#but. things look really bleak right now. fuck

[noonbeam17]

goddamn dude. all that history gone

[exopelagic]

this election feels so hollow even though it’s likely ostensibly gonna be a good outcome. labour really just sucks fucking ass rn huh

[peachesofteal]

you satisfy the urge to see Ghost with little babies and simultaneously make me want more of him with little babies

Light on - single mom/neighbor fic Simon Riley/female reader

He sleeps like the dead on and off for the almost three days.

Uninterrupted, undisturbed, face buried in a pillow, television cranked as loud as he can get away with, the noise one of the only things capable of lulling him to sleep and keeping him under when he’s not on an op or in an active engagement zone. He gets up to eat, use the bathroom or shower, climb the four floors to the roof to smoke, but otherwise, he sleeps. He eats, and sleeps, and repeats this very simple routine, as he always does when he’s here, until it’s interrupted one night, by the tap of a hesitant knock on his door.

The sound freezes his blood, every nerve ending in his body lighting up in alert, muscles priming for an offensive position. He finds the one of many guns stashed in the flat on his way to open the door, mask slipping over his face, holding the weapon tucked carefully behind his body as he looks through the peephole to find… you. The girl from the roof, the baby, Emmaline, in your arms, your eyes nervously darting down the hallway before looking back to his door expectantly. Shit.

“I’m sorry.” You rush out immediately when he opens it, peering up at him with exhausted eyes. Emma is against your chest, and one of your hands cradles her head, the other under her bum, while you bounce her up and down while also rocking back and forth. “I don’t mean to be a pain in the arse but, is there any way I can ask you to turn your TV volume down a bit?” You try to smile but it straightens into a grimace and then your eyes dart to the ground before looking back up at him. “We uh, share a wall.” You tilt your head to the left, to the unit next to his and his eyes widen. “I’m so sorry. I don’t mean to bother you, I’m not trying to be that neighbor but-“ Jesus Christ. You share a wall with him? His mind drifts to an image of you asleep in your bed, tucked up under your covers all sweet, lashes laying delicately on your cheeks.

“Of course. It’s not a bother.” The baby cries in response, a broken wail making her lower lip tremble and you pat her back soothingly until she quiets, little hiccups coming from her mouth while she rubs her face into your shirt.

“Thank you.” You’re still bouncing, still swaying, and he’s mystified, watching you stroke a gentle finger through her fine curls. She yawns sleepily against you, and the tension leaks from your body a bit, spine slumping slightly, shoulders relaxing a notch. You look down at her, checking for something he doesn’t understand, before raising your radiant, tired face back up to his. He really, really wishes he wasn’t holding a handgun behind his back right now. “They told me, when I rented… that you weren’t around much. I thought it’d be a good fit since…” you gesture with an eyebrow towards Emmaline, and he nods.

“I travel for work.” His voice sounds more raspy than normal, a byproduct of too much sleep, something you look like you’d probably kill to have. Fuck. He’s been blasting his television while you’ve been up with a screaming baby for two bleedin’ days.

“Right, well I hope we won’t be too noisy for you, when you are home.” A door slams on third floor above the two of you, the bang of it swinging shut too loud and you tense, something bleak flickering across your face before it’s chased away with a half-forced smile. “Anyway… thanks, again.”

“Of course.” He repeats it, like it’s obvious, and then just as you turn away, he remembers something: “I’m Simon.” You glance back at him, timid smile tugging at your lips, your own name falling from your mouth like you’re giving him a gift.

“Oh, and you know Emmaline already.” You lightly tease, and he nods, his own lips lifting in an almost smile behind the mask in response.

[abbyfreakster]

treat u right

tw; infidelity (both reader & ellie), angst & arguing 2 smut!! cuck!ellie, mean!abby, sub!reader, fingering (r!receiving) & thats all (???)

written in a rush & NOT proofread soo there might be typos..

ellie had been cheating on you for over half of your relationship. for almost 2 years.

you’d found out when her phone had kept buzzing, and buzzing while your guys were trying to enjoy you friday night and watch a movie. once she’d gone to the restroom, you tried (and failed), to resist the urge to unlock it and snoop.

but you did. you put in her passcode that she luckily hadn’t changed, and began to snoop.

23 missed messages from “Domino’s”

really? was that the best cover up she could come up with?

trying to ignore the pit growing in your stomach, you clicked on the notification.

babe?? why aren’t u picking up the phone! u promised you’d see me 2nite ://

so ur ditching me for ur stupid gf again. i see

but you said i was better than her and that you didn’t care about her!! you called her dumb and gullible but ur ignoring me for her?

you’re so fake

your heart dropped further into your stomach with each message that you read. a minute later, you came to your senses, closing the tab and locking her phone again.

you decided to act oblivious, and throw all her stuff out into the rain once she’d left for the night. and when she’d text you something like ‘babe what’s wrong?? why’s my stuff outside?’ or ‘i’m coming over to see you’ you would cuss her out.

and you did.

you screamed, cried, and once she’d left you’d called your best friend, abby, for some comfort.

being the astounding friend that she was, she’d offered to stay with you for a few days, just while you recovered from the anguish of being cheated on by your girlfriend of 3 years.

a few days later, ellie came back. banging on the door, calling you from fake numbers, insisting that you hadn’t given her all of her stuff back.

when you’d opened the door and told her to give away, she’d pushed past you into your apartment without so much as an “okay, come get your things” from you.

deciding to avoid a screaming match, you sighed and straightened up, closing the door behind her.

ellie looked around, taking in the apartment. “wow. looks a lot different without my presence.”

“you’ve only been gone for like four days,” you grunted bitterly.

“exactly! i mean, it’s kinda sad. your life looks all bleak without me, and-”

“leave, ellie.” you interrupted. “i’m not in the mood for this. you said you wanted to just grab the rest of your things and leave, but you’re not even trying to. just go.”

“no,” ellie argued, her voice rapsy with irritation. “i’m here because i just want to see you. i just want to see you! you don’t get to talk to me like that!”

your frustration flared. “you’re looking at me right now, aren’t you? and i’ll fucking talk to you how i want to, since you can’t respect my boundaries. or,” you added snidely, “the boundaries of a relationship.”

“but i’m your girlfriend,” ellie pleaded “you have to listen to me, babe. look, i know i messed up, but she was nothing more than a fuckbuddy..”

“you’re pathetic, ellie. you know damn well i’m not your girlfriend anymore. and you’ve embarrassed yourself enough.”

ellie’s gaze hardened as she took a step toward you. “look, babe,” she said simply, “i don’t wanna have to put my hands on you or anything. why can’t you just listen to me?”

you took a step back. “ellie, just go. please.”

“babe!” she begged, taking another step towards you.

that was when you heard the sound of your front door unlocking & keys jiggling.

oh, yeah, you’d almost forgotten. you’d given abs your spare key for while she stayed with you, so that she wouldn’t have to wait on you to open it when you got back from work.

“hey, you alright? thought i heard arguing but it must be the tv.. oh.” she stopped dead in her tracks, staring at ellie. why are “you here?”

“just checking on my girl,” ellie said defensively. “what about you? coming in all domestic, with groceries and flowers, even got your own set of keys.”

“because i wanted to do something nice for my friend, duh. and i’m helping her recover from the pain you caused her.”

“what pain? oh, i slept with another girl? so what? it’s just sex it doesn’t mean anything!” she turned back to you. “baby, please. we can talk this out.”

“yeah, you can.” abby said thoughtfully, placing the grocery bags down on the kitchen island.

about 10 minutes later, you were sitting in abby’s lap as she pounded into your cunt with her middle and ring finger as her thumb rubbed at your clit.

“come on,” she chided gently. “don’t leaving ellie hanging. answer her question.”

“huh?” you hiccuped, tears welling in your eyes from just how good she was fucking you.

“well, then. ask her again, els. don’t think she quite heard you the first time.”

ellie’s hands were shaking, clenching in and out of fists where she sat in the chair across from you two.

“i said,” ellie repeated, her face red with embarrassment and her voice brimming with pain and humiliation, “how long? how long has.. this been going on?”

you let out another slutty whimper, your eyes rolling back into your head.

“well,” abby said cockily, “she seems a little preoccupied, so i’ll answer for her. since that same night she kicked you out for being a bummy cheater.”

ellie looked away, her body language screaming shame.

“now,” abby said, “can you scram before i make my girl cum? i don’t feel like you deserve to see it.” she applied more pressure to your clit as she spoke, causing you to let out a guttural moan and another string of incoherent whines.

“yes, abby- please, please, please…”

“relax,” she hummed comfortingly, pressing her nose against your neck. “i’ll get you there”

she looked back up again, cocking an eyebrow at ellie and jerking her head towards the door. “you gonna go now?”

“yeah, um, yeah.” ellie said hurriedly, standing up and rushing towards the door, slamming it closed behind her.

now abby was back to kissing and licking at your neck. “y’close? can feel you clenching.”

“mhm, yeah,” you moaned softly.

“better you’re glad she’s gone now. she ever made you feel this good?” she paused, snickering. “oh, who am i kidding? ‘course she hasn’t that’s why you’re all worked up.”

moving her left hand from your thigh, she left a light smack on your clit as she continued to finger you. “fucking cum. now,” she growled in your ear.

your body obeyed, clenching down around her fingers & coating them in milky release. you let out another breathless moan as you rode out your orgasm, leaning your head back against her shoulder. “holy shit. thanks for.. that.”

“you’re welcome,” abby chuckled removing her fingers from your cunt to suck them off. “anytime.”

idk how to end these things but im still working on the other requests guys!! this was was just the easiest to write 💔

[hazbinwhoree]

Guardian Angel

Part 1/3 Part 2

A/N: Starting a series where f!reader is the child of a demon and a human and Adam’s been tasked with keeping an eye on her. Please leave requests!

“It has recently come to my attention that a demon and a human have reproduced,” Sera announced. 

Adam cocked an eyebrow. “No shit. For real?”

“The spawn is already grown. So far she hasn’t caused any trouble so I do not see the need for actions further than simply keeping an eye on her.”

“Okay and what does that have to do with me?” Adam asked, taking a long sip from his drink.

“You’re going to watch her.”

Adam spit out his drink. “Sorry, what?”

“You’re going to be her guardian angel,” Sera smirked. Adam’s jaw dropped idignantly. “Do I have to?” He whined.

“Yes.”

That’s how Adam found himself on Earth, stalking some random demon/human hybrid.

Although despite his apathy, she wasn’t just some random, a demon/human hybrid was almost unheard of. She was the third documented instance of that happening.

But as far as he could tell, she led a boring, painfully bleak life. Adam almost felt bad for her. She seemed really depressed. But his job was getting boring. Her routine was always the same. Work, sleep, eat, shower. It seemed that the hybrid was completely unaware of her origin and the powers she possessed. It made Adam’s job easy. Easy and boring.

He started fucking with her, using his ability to be invisible to the human eye in order to fuck with things in her apartment to mess with her head.

One day, while her roommate was out, she stood in the middle of her room, staring at nothing. “Come out you annoying fuck!” She called out. It took Adam by surprise. “I know someone is here,” she hissed. “And you’ve been fucking with me, and it’s pissing me off, and I know you’re here right now, so show yourself!”

Adam debated for a moment. Sera had just said to watch over her, she’d never said it had to be no contact. In fact, Adam was pretty sure Sera would prefer he try to bring the hybrid to the light, but she chose the wrong angel for that task.

Tired of watching her while she was unawares, Adam let himself appear to her. He appeared behind her, just to fuck with her one more time. She turned and jumped, and Adam snickered. To his surprise, she recovered rather quickly.

“What the fuck are you?”

Adam was once again taken aback, and then offended. “I’m an angel, babes, could you not tell by the halo and wings?”

“Well you look like a demon," she replied.

Adam scoffed indignantly. “Fuck you.”

“Fuck you! Who are you and why have you been following me?”

“I’m Adam. Like, first man ever, Adam.”

“Wow, I’m so impressed.”

“And who the fuck are you, bitch?”

“Shouldn’t you know that since you’ve been following me?”

Adam was seething. “Yeah well I didn’t give enough of a shit to remember your name when Sera told me.”

The hybrid narrowed her eyes. Adam narrowed his. The attitude on this bitch! He hadn’t seen such life in her in the weeks he’d been watching her. He definitely didn’t enjoy seeing her come to life like this. Totally not (he did).

“Well you might as well tell me cause you’re stuck with me now that you can see me.” Adam smirked.

She huffed. “(Name). I’m (Name). Why am I stuck with you?”

“Because my job is to follow you, babe, orders from the Seraphim herself.”

“But why?”

Adam thought about fucking with her for a moment, before spitting out the truth. “Because you’re a Cambion, and Cambions are dangerous.”

(Name) blinked at him. “The fuck is a Cambion?”

“A demon/human love child.”

“What, so you’re saying one of my parents is a demon and I’m like, half a demon?”

“Basically.”

They stood in silence for a moment while (Name) processed this information.

“So,” Adam broke the silence. “What’s for dinner?”

[criibibi]

Synopsis: After losing so much, Spider-woman learns to just keep moving. Only for her to end up somewhere far from home. Her first agenda is figuring out where she is, and how to get back. The only problem is that she ended up somewhere fictional (to her). Playing hero with Batman was not in her bingo cards this year. Hopefully she will be able to make it back home before she catches unwanted attention.

Masterlist: Prev; Next;

Chapter 3 - Weak and Alone

The hairs on your body stood up for a good while before you could relax again. You didn’t know meeting the yellow bat would be this fucking terrifying. Like, c’mon man! You fought many weird, crazy, dangerous, and scary things in your life as a hero, why was coming into contact with one of this world’s heroes that terrifying?

And besides this guy was just- is just a human, not a mutated creature or even an alien, just a regular human like you. But something about him just- put you off.

Crime in the mornings are so rare, how bad was your luck for it to happen when you were there? Wrong place and time, maybe? Or your luck is just shit and that’s that.

You don’t even question how this guy found you-er the robber. Even if he was in the area, Oracle or the other Robin must have been on surveillance duty or something. If you recall only two of Batman’s wards are mostly the “man in the chair” type. Oracle because of what happened to her with the Joker and one of the Robins because he’s one of the smartest ones. Or something like that.

Regardless, you’re okay now. That’s all that matters.

Hands in your pocket you remembered you looted the guy earlier. Taking out  some cash you realized this guy had money. He had three-hundred, so why try to rob a convenience store? Well, whatever, not your problem.

You’ve become really good at pushing your problems to the back of your head.

What is now your problem is finding a library. Lifting your mask back on your face you continue to march forward, regardless of direction. Picking a random bar from your snack bag, you begin to eat it under your mask to calm your stomach so you can think.

“Okay, cheap food and non perishables are what I will live off of.” You don’t plan to stay in this wack world for long, so saving money is key. “Next, find layouts, maps, anything to get a semblance of where I am and what I can do. I need information, and lots of it. Third, I need a generator to power my gizmo. Finally, supplies to build a GHM. ‘Go-Home’ machine.”

So far things are looking very bleak but that's okay. No worries. Um, on the bright side, you haven’t glitched at all, so your gizmo watch isn’t totally off the record. As long as it’s still connected and alive, you’re sure Miguel can find your signal.

You did just suddenly disappear during a fight that was basically your mission that Miguel sent you on. That means Miguel already knows of your unfortunate case and should most likely be looking for you, right? 

He wouldn’t abandon you, right? He’s the one that recruited you after all! He came to you. He knows of your existence and predicament. You have somewhat of a mentor and student relationship for fucks sake! He wouldn’t leave you stranded in favor of his issues with Miles…right?

You’re not getting forgotten… right?

You matter…right?

No! You can’t think like this! You also can’t put all your spiders in one web. You need more options, alternatives. Whether Miguel is looking for you or not (you choose to believe he is), you need to find a way to either go home or get in touch with him.

You gotta do things your own way.

You’re smart, resourceful, use your brain! 

You’re good at improving, inventing, and repairing- a tinker if you will. Taking things apart, fixing what’s broken, or building things. That’s one of your strong suits- it’s time to use that big beautiful brain of yours to find out what’s wrong with this watch.

So in order to do that, you need materials. So how would a broke but smart pretty woman such as yourself find materials that won’t catch the eyes of the batsonas? Simple. One man’s garbage is another man’s treasure.

That’s right baby!

A junkyard. 

Now to find a junkyard, you need a map. So to a library you go!

With newfound determination and energy, forgoing any unsavory thoughts and focusing on buildings and landmarks.

Getting pretty far into the city you managed to find a public library and mentally fell to your knees begging to all the gods to not run into any and all of the bat family here.

So you pass through the automatic doors and immediately feel relaxed. Honestly being in this world makes it hard for you to even feel safe when everything and everyone could be a potential danger to you.

Not to mention how quickly and easily some of the criminals can escape. You reeeeeally don’t want to face the villains of this world. You’d rather your own Vulture than their Scarecrow or whatever. 

Giving the librarian an award winning (and non suspicious) smile, you made your way over to the row of computers. Sitting further away from the camera, you sit down and stare at the dull desktop.

“Okay, good, I’m here, no bats in sight, now what?” Feeling slightly overwhelmed you took a deep breath and then checked the date and location. 

Reading the latest news was beneficial, now you know just who is in Arkham and who’s free at the moment. Thank the gods that the Joker is locked away. You really aren’t ready to face the big bad baddies of this world. 

Soaking in as much information as possible, for hours you learned the latest news, Batman sent the some criminals to Arkham, Bruce Wayne hosting a charity event in a couple of months, Dick Grayson is coming to Gotham (why?), Lex Luther’s recent scandal, Superman saves the earth (again), Damian Wayne’s anticipated art museum opening. Wow, nothing interesting. 

Nearing four hours just sitting there, you decide to call it quits and pull up maps one last time. Double checking your information you make sure that everything was like you never touched it and thensome. 

Waving good-bye to the librarian you headed off to the large junkyard you found. The walk was pleasant and free of crime. Fuck you daylight robber. Though you know it isn’t true, crime happens everywhere and anytime, just some are quieter than others. 

Arriving at the junkyard, you realized just how ginormous it is. Walking around you spot an abandoned warehouse, where equipment usually is stored and you jump with glee. Knowing there are no working cameras around here, you rest easy knowing you can just go ham on tinkering to your heart's desire.

Setting your bags down, you look around. There are tools that were left behind and you were ready to kneel and thank the gods. Looking at the equipment and workbench, you’re thoroughly pleased with what you have to work with. Shedding your hoodie, you step outside and into your paradise.

Finding many useful and discarded materials you quickly get to work in picking apart metals and material. Dragging them inside the spacious warehouse you go back and forth picking and dragging materials.

And the day flew by, just like that. It’s already late afternoon and you looked over your work.

You’ve made great progress with gathering materials. Having a mountain inside the warehouse to work with and on the workbench there was already something in the making. You’re building what is essentially a charger and beacon for your web watch. 

This will give out a signal for Miguel to latch onto and discover your location. The only issue is if Miguel is looking for you, this will help greatly. The other issue is, you need energy, and lots of it. Sunlight here would suck with how gloomy Gotham can be.

So direct sunlight can’t be its only source. 

Regardless you’ll fix and create the panels anyways. For now, since it’s late, you’ll take a break and fix this place up. 

Sike, you just make a web hammock on the ceiling and web your bags to the wall next to you. After discovering the owner of the motel tried to get inside your room (that you fucking paid for) while you managed to finally catch some Zzz’s, it was decided to just leave.

Though you still need food and a place to do your necessities. Maybe you just have to suck it up and go through the centers here.

Sighing in the silence, your mind began to spiral.

The warmth and comfort of uncle Ben as he took care of you when you had nightmares, the gentle embrace of aunt May when you had succumbed to fevers, and the loving presence of Peter Parker when you were at the brink of it all.

You miss them, god you fucking miss them! You hadn’t felt those things in years, not after closing yourself from everyone when you lost them. Sure you had the mentor and student relationship with Miguel, but you never let yourself get close.

Not with Miles and the others, because you felt like a protector, a role model, someone who can’t show weakness.

Not with the hundreds of other Peter Parker’s either. Those Peter’s are just as smart, charming, dorky, and special as your Peter Parker. But they aren’t your Peter Parker. And they never will. Your Peter was even more special, more smart, more charming, more dorky, more charismatic, more everything! He was everything! And then… he left.

No, he didn’t leave.

You just couldn’t save him. You must not have been enough for him. You had seen the signs! You could have done something! But you didn’t. You got complacent, cowardly. Afraid to lose what you have. 

Uncle Ben’s death taught you to treasure what you have before it’s taken away. Aunt May’s death taught you to keep things as they are, so they don’t break. You vowed to never make those mistakes again.

So when you met Peter Parker, you made sure he knew just how much he meant to you. How special he was, and how important he is to you. You weren’t blind, you noticed the painted smiles he wore at times. How life seemed to be dragging him down. But you were too afraid, too complacent. You didn’t want to tip the scales and possibly break something too fragile. You never pushed, or prodded because you knew if someone did that to you, you’d leave.

But the most important thing was that Peter isn’t you. Peter was strong, faaaar stronger than you, he isn’t glass. He held on for soooo long, and still tried to hide his pain from you. But you knew. You also knew that Peter knew that you knew. You just never pushed.

Peter Parker’s death demonstrated just how powerless you are. How much of a coward and paranoid you became. If you just talked to him, maybe he would still be alive. 

With you…

Maybe, you would have accepted his confession once you mustered up the courage to take a leap and accept his feelings for you.

Just maybe.

But, there is no maybe anymore. There will never be Peter Parker and You. Because there hasn’t been another you so far. 

And you live with that guilt and hatred towards yourself. But if Peter’s death taught you anything else, it’s to keep moving.

You have to keep going, for Peter’s sake. And for your sanity.

Because the more time you spend in this universe and not in your own, where you can visit Ben, May, and Peter’s graves, you are slipping ever so slightly.

You’re losing your fucking mind.

You just want to go home.

-

“Nothing Bruce. It’s only been a day but so far nothing.” Catwoman’s sharp voice cut through the silence.

Batman doesn’t reply in acknowledgement but nods and leaves the rooftop, leaving Catwoman peeved.

“I told you I’d keep looking, maybe it was nothing. You’re just too paranoid.” She huffed before going her separate way.

Batman felt his eyebrow twitch. First, this disturbance that apparently leads to nothing (that’s not true, he can feel it.) Then it’s news about a freak who caught two crooks beating a civilian. At first he didn’t pay it any mind until they kept spouting about a person in a suit shooting a sticky substance.

Gordon couldn’t get a sample because of how sticky the substance was and only for it to dissolve thirty minutes later. Jim Gordon also couldn’t add anything to this person’s claim because it was night and dark and he could only see the silhouette of the person.

But then again, that’s just two things that were off. A coincidence sure, but he doesn’t really believe in coincidences. Not in Gotham.

Placing his hand on his earpiece he spoke, “Anything?”

“Nothing to note. Maybe she’s right. What if this shift was just a coincidence?” Oracle replied.

“Not likely,” He heard her huff, and he sighed. “But not impossible either.”

Oracle would take that over a paranoid Batman any day. It’s the closest thing to an agreement then she will ever get. “I’ve been scanning the whole day but so far, nothing. Not even something similar.” She mumbled to herself.

Just as she takes a small break and sips on water, she hears footsteps approaching.

“How can I help you, Duke?”

“Hey, sorry to bother you if you're busy. Looks like you could use a break.” He replied.

“Honestly, yes. With the whole issue near the East End, I need it.” Barbara swirled her chair around to face Duke.

Duke rubbed his neck in apprehension. “Did you-”

“Find anything?” Oracle finishes for him. He nods. “No. Scanned her face and everything but nothing came up. Then I checked beyond, outside of Gotham. Truly nothing. She’s a ghost.”

“Or, maybe a survivor?” Duke proposed.

“Possibly. Many trafficked survivors and escapees have made it to Gotham.” Barbara entertained the idea.

“Do you know where,” after a hesitant pause he let his hand fall to his side, a slight glint in his eyes that went unnoticed. “She is staying?”

“She was staying at a motel near Park Row. She hasn’t returned since.” This was cause for alarm for Duke but he kept it in.

“Where-” He tried.

“Relax Duke. You know most would call this- what’s the word, ah, stalking.” Barbara teased, causing Duke to flush slightly.

“You’re right. I just…” He straightened up before he chuckled at his memory of you. “I never got her name.”

“That’s cause she never threw it. Not even the guy from the store got it.”

“Alright, thanks though.” Duke nodded and headed out.

Barbara bid him well and returned to the screen. Wondering how you, a random civilian, caught Duke’s attention. But then again, after scanning your face on the screen she too couldn’t help but find herself unable to look away. 

And yes, you could say that you’re pretty, she can see that, but there is just something about you that makes you different and she can’t figure out why. Just what about you has her curious. But then again you are a civilian and she won’t mix personal interest with work. 

Despite parading that Bruce was being paranoid about the disturbance in the air. It was strong enough to send an alert to her, and it could be something dangerous. But it happened so fast that you could blind and you would miss it.

For now, the thought of the pretty civilian will be put on the back burner, but not forgotten. She’ll get to you when she solves this stupid case in front of her. That and the mysterious spider person that three people (not including her dad) apparently saw.

“Coincidence? Probably not.” typing the keyboard she clicks enter and watches the monitor scan Gotham for the same frequency as the disturbance to see if she can put up anything, even a trace.

Nothing.

Clicking enter, she watches the screen again.

Prev; Next;

I realized have like ZERO outline for a fleshed out story sucks balls. Well, let's see where this goes together. I ordered some Signal/Duke comics and I am excited to see them arrive. Anyways, which new bat person do you think you'll meet next? There is only one right answer and it isn't Duke.

You're name isn't Tinker, but it's probably what I'll use as your alias.

[sweetiecutie]

Pairing: dark! König x fem! Reader

Warnings: yandere behavior, obsession, stalking, gaslighting, drugging, kidnapping. This is only fiction! Never tolerate creepy behavior

A/n: so this has been sitting in my drafts for a while so I decided to finish it as a part of writing event. I’m so proud of this one, like omg, look at me being a writer😆

Your head hurt. That was the first thing you registered as you started to slowly regain consciousness. Your face scrunched up in a grimace of pain as you let out a soft groan, your throat sore, only increasing your discomfort.

You tried to raise your hands to rub on your eyes in attempt to soothe the stinginess - point word - tried. You very soon found that your movements had been restricted by something that felt very much like rope. And not only your hands - your legs were bound tightly together at your knees and ankles, not allowing you to move.

- You’re awake now? - soft voice droned on, making you tense up impossibly more. The most terrifying thing was that you knew exactly who this voice belonged to.

You squinted into direction from which the sound came, your vision still blurry and hazy from the drug. Thankfully, the room was dark, small lamp on the bedside table was the only source of soft yellow light. You could only perceive a bulky figure sitting on a chair not too far from you, piercing blue eyes gazed at you unblinking.

- König..? What’s going on? - you asked, your voice was hoarse and weak from long lack of usage.

Suddenly, memories flashed before your eyes; it was late evening - about 11 pm - as you were walking towards convenience store not so far from your apartment.

You had been in a state of constant desolation lately - days were bleak and boring, blurring into one with their unchanging routine, sending you in deeper state of depression.

Breakup with your boyfriend took a toll on you. You loved König, you really did. Considered spending your life with him, even. But the longer your relationship lasted, the more of real him you saw - controlling, obsessive, manipulative.

It all started out small - constant checking in, questions about your whereabouts and your company, him following accompanying you wherever possible. Surely, it restricted your freedom, but König didn’t mean anything bad! He was just worried for you, concerned about your safety! Is that so bad?

So you let it slip. You overlooked his more controlling tendencies, agreed to giving him passwords to all your social media even, so König could make sure that “no freaks were texting you”. It unnerved you, but he didn’t mean anything bad, did he? He was just being a good caring boyfriend!

And it was like an avalanche. Constant calls and messages, controlling what you were wearing, unwillingness to leave you alone even for a few minutes - that and many other things made a list of what your boyfriend did, only adding to your anxiety. But you tolerated it all, because you loved him. Once, digging through your phone you found something that looked very much like a tracking app. You were outraged. But when you asked König about it - rather aggressively - he just blinked at you with wide innocent blue eyes, saying that maybe you installed it on accident? You know all these bots nowadays, you can never be safe online now. But you know that he would never do something like that, right? How could you even think of something like that?! König was genuinely offended, and you naturally hastened to apologize for your unwise accusations, trying to make it up to him. Deleting this app seemed to be impossible, though, no matter how many times you tried.

Last drop was, however, when König nearly blew out your best friend’s front door, threatening them to keep away from you. “This bitch is putting some fucked up ideas about me into your head” - was his reasoning. And that was it - hell was set free. You had an ugly shouting marathon for hours to no end, with lots of tears and profanities, ending up with a harsh breakup and you blocking König everywhere, cutting him off completely.

And since then you haven’t spoken a word to him. Of course, he came to your apartment countless times, sent numerous gifts and bouquets of your favorite flowers, practically begging for forgiveness. But you knew better than that - it happened before, and even if you forgave him this time, in a few months time everything would be just as it was before.

At present, you were walking down a sidewalk, asphalt damp under your shoes from recent rain. You needed to get some groceries, since your fridge was just as empty as your stomach; and this late of an hour promised as little people around as possible, saving you from unfavorable company of men.

Just as you rounded a corner - a pair of huge strong arms - obviously male - seized your sensibly smaller body; a weird-smelling cloth was pressed tightly over your mouth and nose. In your panicked state you tried to fight back, not registering your own breathing, inhaling lungfuls of drug. Darkness filled your vision rapidly as dizziness overcame all your senses. You felt consciousness quickly slipping away from you, neon lights of convenience store shone brightly before your eyes still.

Panic seized your throat and it was becoming harder to breathe - you tugged and pulled on rough ropes around your limbs, trying to either snap them or slip out of tight confines, thrashing around the mattress relentlessly. König didn’t do anything, just watched you silently with his icy orbs from his spot, not exactly amused nor impressed by your behavior. Very soon fatigue took over your already exhausted body, you lay motionless once again, panting heavily as you glared at König’s dark form, vision still unfocused from the drug.

- Drop that. I made sure knots are tight, - he said coldly, continuing to observe you with a sharp stare of a hawk.

You just glared silently, trying to catch your breath. Your body felt heavy - extremely so, as if every limb was made out of lead and not flesh and bone; moving as much as one finger seemed harder than anything and you wondered how you managed to thrash around in the first place. Your head was aching irritably, not allowing you to think clearly - it had to be the side effect of whatever that was König made you inhale previously.

- König, do you realize what you did? - you managed to choke out, panic crashing over you in waves as realization of your current situation finally hit you. Hot tears streamed down your face as you tried to breathe evenly, but it did little to calm you down.

König just leaned in, cupping the side of your face with one of his huge hands, his thumb swiped under your eye, wiping salty tears away with calloused fingertip. You closed your eyes, averting your face from his touch. And oh, he didn’t like it.

König gripped bottom part of your face, force of his grip squeezed your cheeks together as he turned your head forcibly towards himself, making you squeal quietly as you faced him.

- You tried to leave me. And you are very dear to me. I can’t let this happen, - König explained, his voice calm, alarmingly calm. His scarred lips were pressed into a thin pale line, giving a little clue of his rage.

It was another side of him, completely different from what you used to see - a calm, ruthless and collected one; one that you could only imagine, based off some rumors you’ve heard about him and small cracks in his friendly mask König was too careless to hide from you during your relationship. You got glimpses of it a few times - when some drunk dude tried to hit on you when you and König were in the bar together, or when you mentioned how nice one of your male coworkers was. You always made one brutal mistake of brushing it all off, blaming it on König’s tiredness or fierce personality. And that’s where it led you.

- So what are you gonna do now? Keep me here forever? - you tried to scoff, but your trembling voice was way too weak to do so.

König cocked his eyebrow at your brave words, ghost of a smile played on his pursed lips. He shrugged lightly, grip of his fingers on your cheeks eased as he caressed them endearingly with rough fingertips, tickling you slightly.

- If that’s what it takes to keep you with me - then yes, - he shrugged slightly, propping his chin on his free hand, not a single emotion could be deciphered in his voice. These words made your blood turn cold.

He heaved a deep sigh at your frightened expression and trembling body, letting go of your face and reclining into his chair.

- Schatzi, you know I hate this just as much as you do. You think I’m enjoying this? - he asked, his tone was somehow sad and exhausted. But yes, you indeed thought, knew he enjoyed this. You kept silent, choking on your silent sobs, now being extremely aware of thick ropes digging painfully into your soft skin. Panic attack was full on taking over you, suffocating you with numerous sobs, body tensing and shaking incessantly, tears blurring your thus poor vision.

- Now, this all may end if you stop being a little bitch and start acting like an actual adult. We didn’t finish our conversation that last time, and you blocking me everywhere doesn’t make things any easier, - König said, his ice-blue eyes boring holes in your head. But you couldn’t comprehend the meaning behind his words, your brain short-circuited with fear and panic, turning you into a weeping shaking mess.

König heaved another sigh. He got up from his chair, taking a few steps towards your bed and dropping to his knees in front of it, so that his head was right against yours. His hand once again came to caress the side of your face affectionately, tangling into your messy hair and massaging your scalp, cooing soothingly at you.

- I know baby, I know. You need to rest. Don’t worry, I’ll keep you safe. And then, once you’re strong and rested, we’ll talk again. And we’ll sort everything out and be happy again, just like we used to be, hmm? - König murmured softly as he always did to calm you down during hard times. But it only made you weep harder.

König pressed his lips against your cold forehead, leaving a chaste kiss as he inhaled lungfuls of your scent. He then nuzzled his forehead against yours, mumbling quietly:

- You can’t imagine how much I missed you. How could you do this to me? Hurt me so much even though I only want the best for you?

He peppered your face with small kisses, whispering small nothings and caressing your shuddering back. This made you feel nauseous. Your consciousness started to slip away again, your vision darkening rapidly. And just before blacking out, you heard König’s voice, one you loved so dearly once, utter:

- You’re mine, always will be. I’ll make sure of that.

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[a-student-out-of-time]

An Important Reminder In Trying Times

Hey everyone, Mod Bubbles here.

I know that I've said over and over that I don't like talking about politics on here, but I really feel the need to say this:

This Is Not The End.

I understand things probably seem really bleak right now. A lot of people are going to be hurt by this, and the sheer amount of fearmongering and worst case scenarios are inescapable. But the country and the world are not going to change overnight. To be honest, it may not change very much at all in the next four years. I'm not a political scientist, so I can't tell you that for sure. There's a lot to be concerned about.

What I can tell you, as a student of history, is this: not only have we survived this once, we have survived this every time.

Think about it this way: every single tyrant, every single right-wing representative, every single emperor and colonial power, every corporate scumbag and power-hungry lunatic. No matter how many of them have ever come to power, held onto power, and tried to make themselves seem invincible, not a single one has ever held back humanity's progress and not a single one has proven to be invincible.

There were countries throughout history, especially in the 20th century, that fell under brutal dictatorships and saw countless lives lost. Did the people just give up and accept it? Fuck no they didn't. They fought back. Many of them lived to see democracy restored to their lands in their lifetimes, or fought to see it restored in their children's.

From Europe to Latin America, while many countries still have their issues, they endured and their people have survived. Their governments were not invincible, just as none ever have been.

Regardless of the outcome of this election, the world will go on. People will not just roll over and accept whatever horrible things happen, the fight will continue and we will do everything in our power to carry on as we always have. We'll carry on to achieve bigger and better things.

Let me also be clear: if you feel the need to cry, please cry. If you're afraid, don't pretend you're not. If you're angry, allow yourself to feel that anger. But if you're seriously contemplating giving up or hurting yourself, please don't.

You may hear all this news and ask yourself, "Bubbles, what's the point? What can I do about all this?" I've felt that way too, I have for a long time. I understand completely. It's scary and overwhelming, but I'll tell you exactly what you can do to fight against that: you can be kind.

Do you want to know where the most tangible change in the world begins? It's never at the top. It begins with people like us on a communal level, where we reach out to help others. Whether that means we help our neighbors, our friends, or any strangers we can.

Going out of your way to start fights, looking for someone to blame based on the flimsiest justifications, and just being cruel because you're angry, those aren't how you change anything. Those just add to the problem.

Here's just some ideas on what you can do instead:

Get away from the news, stop doomscrolling, mute doomers, and turn the TV and news apps off. This will get you out of a negative feedback loop that'll make you feel worse and more powerless, which is what they're designed to do in order to maximize traffic.

Remember to eat, sleep, brush your teeth, take a shower, take your meds, and do everything else you need to do to stay healthy.

If you or someone else really feel like leaving the country for your own safety is best, you can still work do so. But please don't convince yourself that if you can't, it's over.

Give back to people as much as you can. Show the people in your life who support you that you care, and that all that they do for you matters.

Donate to good causes you believe in.

Stand up to bullshit whenever you see it.

Do not give up on your dreams and ambitions. One bad leader does not mean your future automatically ends. Stop worrying about any potential apocalypse in the future, because you can do that even on the best days, and instead work toward a future that you CAN achieve.

There's this pervasive and very inaccurate idea that it's only the president who gets to enforce policies on the country. This ignores governors, the House of Representatives, Congress, mayors, and the countless other leaders involved. And it ignores you.

You do not have to spend the next 3 years and 364 days doing nothing but feeling miserable. In fact, that's the last thing you should do. Fear and despair are the weapons they wield, and they only have as much power as you allow them to have over you.

If your view of politics is that you just have to vote for the "right one" and then everything will be utopian, or that if people vote for the wrong one" then we're headed for a terrible dystopian nightmare, I have to tell you that that is incredibly reductionist and also very dumb. I can also tell you from personal experience that it's not them who make the real changes where it's needed.

A friend sent me a video that really opened my eyes on this situation: Adam Conover, the guy behind Adam Ruins Everything, said he's not worried about all this. Why? Because he and some friends were able, through their own power, to make real positive changes in their community. They were able to bring homelessness down in their district by over 38% through their own efforts.

And he's right that, as a silver lining to all this, it made more Americans than ever take a stand against all the horrible shit they were seeing and get involved with solutions.

Speaking from my own experiences as well, when Hurricane Helene devastated my area, it wasn't the politicians who came and repaired roads and power lines, it wasn't them who brought in food and supplies to everyone, and it wasn't them who worked tirelessly to save people still in need. It was everyone in our local communities.

The people at the top have never really cared about anything more than your money and your vote, but the people around you care more than you may believe they would. Hell, even strangers on the internet care more than you'd believe.

Now, even if you've made it this far, you may be wondering "What about when he starts outlawing and banning things?" To that, I say look at Prohibition and see how well that went. Politicians have only ever operated under the idea that banning something will make it go away, and it always does the exact opposite. And if you're still worried, you can get involved with organizations that fight to support these things being available and regulated.

But by now, you may also be wondering "What if I can't get involved? What if I'm too young or I don't have the money, or my parents won't let me?"

Then just be kind.

Stop looking for enemies to blame. Don't martyr yourself for some nebulous cause or the idea that your suffering increasing means the rest of the suffering in the world will go down. Don't torture yourself by telling yourself that you didn't do enough.

Show compassion, show support, show love and genuine care toward people who need it, including yourself.

"But there's so many shitty people in this country and the world, why should I-" Stop thinking that way. This isn't about them, this is about you and how you can make a difference. There will probably always be shitheads and power-hungry morons, but that does not negate the fact that you can choose to be different. You can choose to be kind.

Kindness is a sword that you have to learn how to wield. Wield it responsibly and use it to help others. No matter how small or insignificant it may be, YOU DO MAKE A DIFFERENCE.

I say all this as a 29-year-old who spent most of his life feeling scared and miserable about so many current events, convincing myself I'm useless and selfish because I was worried about so much and I hated myself for all of it. And I've decide I'm not going to do that anymore.

During the last right-wing era, I managed to help build a whole community out of my love for Danganronpa. I created friendships, relationships, and there are people alive right now because I chose to do so. Because I chose to use that community for kindness. I want to keep building from there by going into streaming and reaching out to more people.

I won't lie to you and say that I'm not scared, because I am. But I'm also not going to let fear change who I am. I want us all to be better to ourselves and others, because that is how you defeat hate. It starts with you.

And if you're still concerned, let me share with you a quote from The Great Dictator, a movie made in 1940, when World War II wasn't even at its height yet:

To those who can hear me, I say - do not despair. The misery that is now upon us is but the passing of greed - the bitterness of men who fear the way of human progress. The hate of men will pass, and dictators die, and the power they took from the people will return to the people. And so long as men die, liberty will never perish…

Please take care of yourselves out there, everyone. We'll get through this, just as we always have.

[immoralkombat]

feeling(s)

Kenshi has been blind for maybe an hour or two.

Johnny looks over at him with sympathy. He's not sure what he could possibly do or say to make things seem any less bleak for him. The man was just trying to get his family's heirloom back and now, after months of training and dedication, one of his five senses is gone permanently through no fault of his own. If Johnny were in Kenshi's position, he's sure he'd be feeling just as desolate, if not more so.

Kung Lao is sitting in the far corner, talking to Baraka. He seems genuinely fascinated by Tarkat as a disease. Were Johnny not in the same situation as them, he would find that particular conversation topic a bit morbid. Right now, it's really all they have to talk about. They've already exhausted all the small talk options you normally go through when first meeting someone. They might as well start talking about the disease that'll eventually kill Baraka.

The salve on the cloth seems to have worked a little, because at least Kenshi isn't moaning in pain every few seconds anymore. Not that it makes things significantly more cheerful, but it does help the atmosphere a bit.

Johnny taps on his knees as he sits, eyes darting between looking at Kung Lao and Kenshi. He's kind of in between where the two have sat themselves, a visual and metaphorical median between the two ways one could possibly react to getting imprisoned by a sorcerer that's almost 100% going to kill you. (To be fair, there isn't much that connects the points of "casually talking about a stranger's terminal illness with them as though you're both standing by the office water cooler talking about whatever hit TV show is airing these days" and "rocking back in forth in the corner about how a different terminally ill stranger took your eyes and you have nothing left in this world." Johnny supposes the best middle point is "looking anxiously between your two co-workers and not saying anything because Jesus Christ, what the fuck are you supposed to say in this situation besides aforementioned terminal illness.")

He really wishes that Kenshi still had his eyes, because every time he looked at Johnny, it always seemed to make everything feel okay.

Johnny thinks for a second and then scoots closer to Kenshi. It's only once he accidentally bumps up against Kenshi's foot and scares the living shit out of everyone in the cell that he realizes he probably should've given an audible cue that he was going to be approaching the newly blind guy.

After Kenshi's done having a mini panic attack over the sudden Hollywood A-lister jumpscare he's gotten, Johnny looks at him and asks, quietly, "Do you want to hold Sento for a bit?"

Kenshi turns to face him and even underneath the newly christened blindfold, Johnny can tell that Kenshi is looking at him with the most surprised and reverent eyes in the universe. The kind of look that you'd get and say "fuck this stupid sword, I'd pay $3 million just to get this guy to look at me like that again."

Kenshi's mouth opens as though he's going to say something, but it shuts again before any words or sounds can come out. He opts to nod in response and Johnny takes the scabbard from off his back, holds it in his hands gently and passes it to Kenshi. Their fingertips graze one another, a way to indicate that the blind man is in the right spot. The touch sends crackles of electricity through Johnny and he wonders if Kenshi feels them too.

It's like the tattoos on Kenshi's hands are swirling around him, colors dancing in front of his eyes. It's more beautiful than any lame fucking Disney movie ever could be.

The yakuza's voice is hoarse as he says "Thanks." It's so small that Johnny can almost see it breaking in the air. He wants to put his hand on Kenshi's and tell him that things will be okay, that he's going to pay for a sight companion, any kind of corrective surgeries he wants, whatever it takes. He wants to tell him that he's still just as strong and fierce and goddamn handsome now as he was before. He wants to kiss him so fucking badly it makes his entire being ache.

He settles for saying "You're welcome," and then sitting next to Kenshi in silence.

He watches the way that he holds Sento in his hands, feels every single nick in the scabbard, every single imperfection. It's the first time in Johnny's life that he's ever wanted to be a sword and, if he keeps hanging out with Kenshi after this, (which he hopes he can), it almost certainly won't be the last.

Johnny wishes that Mileena had taken Kenshi's tear ducts with her after she'd stabbed his eyes out, because the short sad sobs that wrack through his body are almost too much to bear witness to. When he cries, it moves through his entire being. It sends a shockwave from his gut upward, makes him lurch his shoulders forward and hug himself.

"H-Hey, what's wrong?" Johnny asks. He knows it's a stupid fucking question, obviously everyone knows what's wrong, most of all the guy it happened to. But it's all he can think to ask as he watches Kenshi continue to awkwardly jerk alongside his cries.

Kenshi's head turns to face Johnny. From beyond the thin red cloth that covers his eye sockets, Johnny can feel them boring into him.

"Cage, could I touch you? I want to remember what your face looks like."

If Johnny were operating on his full mental capacity, he would probably explode at this question. He would become the fireworks they popped last night at the banquet over their heads as they feasted. He would be attached to one end of a fuse with Li Mei holding the other end, readying herself to spark it and send him to the stratosphere.

"Y-Yeah, of course you can, Ken-doll. Just make sure not to damage the goods - people pay good money for this mug to show up on their big screens."

The smugness in his voice would normally earn him a "tch" or a groan, (or an eye roll), from Kenshi. Hearing him chuckle under his breath makes his heart soar.

He turns his face toward him and waits, but no touch comes. His eyes close, he anticipates the electricity to come back... and instead he hears Kenshi clearing his throat awkwardly.

Johnny opens his eyes and finds that Kenshi's still got his hands on Sento. He tries not to be jealous of the sword again, but as with any other time he's tried not to be jealous of someone or something that has what he wants, he fails miserably.

"Could you get closer, Cage?"

"Not the first time I'm hearing that question, won't be the last. How close you need me, handsome?"

The words come out before he can even process them. Jesus Christ, is he really that much of a disaster that he can just openly call a guy he's been crushing on for at least a month handsome without even thinking about it? He's a fucking mess. His wife left him and now he doesn't know how to act. She was gonna be the only person he'd ever be able to trick into loving him and now she was gone.

"I'm going to turn, and I suggest you do the same. I want to be facing you. You can sit with your legs touching mine if it helps."

Great, now Kenshi has a colorful blindfold that also serves as a perfect swatch for the shade of red Johnny's face turns every time the man says something that's totally fucking normal for two people that are acquainted with one another.

Johnny does as he's told, because if there's one thing he's good at, it's taking directions. (Ignoring literally every single major motion picture he's ever been in, every statement he's ever made to the press after consulting his legal teams and public consultants, and generally living life up until this point.)

His knees knock against Kenshi's and it takes him aback for a second, how giddy and childish the butterflies he feels in his stomach are. Getting to know Kenshi was so simple. He wishes he had just taken a second and been less of a dickwad back when they'd first met, because maybe then it'd be easier for him to grow a pair of cajones and tell Kenshi that he doesn't spend a single night without thinking about how much he wants to trace the tattoos on his hands and arms. Maybe if he had just given Sento over, it'd be easier to admit that the low rumble of Kenshi's voice does something to stir up the pool of heat in his stomach that he thought had been long since gone after getting married to Cristal. Maybe if he hadn't tied Kenshi to one of his kitchen chairs, it'd be easier to ask him if kissing washed-up celebrities was something he'd be interested in doing.

"I'll put my hand out, you lean forward to match it."

Kenshi's palm is extended and it takes every ounce of willpower in Johnny's aching body to not press his lips against it. He leans forward until his cheek is lightly touching the yakuza's hand.

He must be hearing things, because he swears he hears Kenshi's breath hitch when they make contact for the first time. Nah, surely not. Must've been the wind.

If Kenshi's senses are heightened because of the loss of his vision, then Johnny's senses are heightened because of the gain of his touch. He purses his lips together to stop from letting out some sort of obscene sound as he feels Kenshi's hand slowly smooth over his cheek. He thanks whatever fucked up Gods exist other than Liu Kang that he finally got on that moisturizing routine that he learned off of TikTok three months ago.

As Kenshi's hand slowly feels out every angle and curve of Johnny's face, his thoughts rush a mile a minute. He wonders if he should've done a closer shave today - maybe his stubble is gonna be too sharp and it'll hurt Kenshi and leave him with little cuts or rug burn on his pretty perfect wrap-around-my-throat-please hands. He wonders if his nose is too big. He wonders if he maybe should've invested in hair plugs after that one weird SNL dropout made a comment about his weird square hairline back when he guest starred on the Comedy Central roast of Megan Fox. He wonders if his eyes are too small or too large or too close together or too far apart. He wonders if he should smile so Kenshi can feel his dimples.

"Yep, it all feels just like how I remember it. Although the stubble has gotten a little longer."

That is certainly not the answer he was expecting to hear.

His voice is small, barely there, as he chokes out his question. "You remember what I look like?"

Kenshi nods. "I do."

Johnny goes to open his mouth to ask, "Then why did you ask to touch it if you already knew?"

But then Kenshi's fingers are on his lips, tracing them with the reverence he'd have holding Sento, and for a moment, Johnny finally thinks he's better than that stupid fucking sword. His smile has the same curves, the same edges. The only difference is that Kenshi can't accidentally hurt himself this way. (He can, however, accidentally hurt Johnny. But even that would be better than the alternative, he thinks.)

Kenshi's thumb is on his bottom lip, the rest of his hand now holding Johnny's chin. If he tilts it up even one degree, Johnny thinks it'll be over for him, that he'll be kissing Kenshi before he can even think to stop himself. He'd always had poor impulse control - why else would he have spent $3 million on a fucking sword to hang up in his living room?

"These are the same, too. I'm glad you weren't hurt in the fight, Cage."

Johnny feels so fucking overwhelmed. He wants to ask so many things. First of all, what does "these are the same, too" mean? Second, why does he care about the guy who bought his fucking family heirloom and refuses to give it back? Third, why does he insist on calling him Cage like one day he won't end up calling him Johnny and breaking his heart? Fourth, what in the goddamn fuck does he mean about Johnny's fucking lips being the goddamn motherfucking same?!

Johnny decides to play it up like he always does. "Well, 'course. Gotta keep my pretty mouth. It's what makes the big bucks. I wouldn't be the same without it."

Kenshi smirks, and thank Liu Kang's weird god siblings that he's blind right now, because Johnny is beet red, mouth agape, with his eyebrows raised (and he's fairly certain that something else also rises).

"That's true. You would not be the same without that infamous mouth." Kenshi accents the compliment(?) with a playful slap to Johnny's cheek, and then his hand is withdrawn entirely, leaving an empty ghost where he should still be holding Johnny's face in his hands.

He bites back the urge to immediately ask if Kenshi wants to know just how infamous the mouth is, and settles for clearing his throat and moving back to sitting against the wall next to Kenshi.

He looks over at him after he's gotten calmed down. His heart is still jackhammering against his ribs, but as long as Kenshi can't feel his pulse, he doesn't have to know. Kenshi seems to sense Johnny's eyes on him because he turns to face him, red blindfold all that stands between the gaping holes where Kenshi's eyes used to be and Johnny's gaze full of adoration.

The yakuza grabs Sento from his lap and hands it back to Johnny.

"Thank you. I appreciate you letting me hold it. And I appreciate your help in grounding me back to reality."

Johnny nods, taking Sento back and putting it where it so wrongfully deserves to be, strapped against Johnny's sore fucking back.

"No problem. Lemme know whenever you get the urge to feel out what an Adonis looks like, I'm happy to oblige." His comment is a means to an end. He plays up the egoism to ignore the shock that courses through him as Kenshi's fingertips touch his one last time.

He resolves then and there to give Sento back as soon as they escape from here, and they will escape.

This cannot be the last time he feels Kenshi's hands on him.

Baraka whispers, about as well as he can without lips or an inside voice, "Do they not realize how much they yearn for one another?"

Kung Lao shakes his head, putting a hand on Baraka's shoulder and immediately regretting it once he feels a spike tear into his palm. "They've just gotta be stupid about it for a bit longer. They'll figure it out."

"Surely their pining has to cause some sort of agony for you as well, does it not, Earthrealmer?" Baraka looks genuinely confused, or as close to it as he can get from what Kung Lao can tell.

Kung Lao hangs his head, sighing languidly. "Of course it does. But what else am I gonna do about it? Tell them? They're not gonna believe me. Trust me, they've got to figure it out on their own time, or they never will."

And as he sees Johnny's hand inch closer to Kenshi's, finally overlapping the tattoos and interlocking their fingers, Kung Lao thinks that maybe the agony won't last much longer.

[anonymousewrites]

Nature of the Human Soul (Book 1) Chapter Three

Platonic! Hazbin Hotel x Teen! Reader

Father Figure! Alastor x Teen! Reader

Chapter Three: Controlling Television

Summary: The Hotel learns about the extermination coming early, and (Y/N) meets someone new.

            “Okay, so the extermination is coming in six months instead of a year,” said Charlie, pacing. “No big deal. Just a little setback. Nothing we can’t handle. Just angels cutting our timetable in half. But who needs a whole year to save souls?” She laughed nervously, the breakdown beginning. “Am I right? And next time, when they cut the time in half again and again, we’ll just handle it, right?”

            Vaggie caught Charlie by the shoulders. “Yes. We will.” She attempted to steady her girlfriend.

            “Oh, please, ya had less of a chance when you started all this salvation bullshit,” said Angel. “And now….Ain’t no silver lining this time toots.”

            “Sure there is,” said Charlie. “We just have to look a little harder for it.”

            “Seems pretty bleak to me,” said (Y/N). “I don’t know much about it, but it feels like the angels get to do whatever they want and fuck us over.”

            Angel nodded, and Charlie deflated. “The rest of Hell agrees with them. They’re going nuts.” Angel grimaced as he read through reactions on his phone. “People are freaking out about the news.” He held up his phone. “Look at what’s happening in the Doomsday District.”

            The land was on fire, and Charlie frowned as a notification popped up.

            “Er, what is a ‘donkey show?’ ” she asked.

            “Ah! Heh, nothing!” said Angel, snatching his phone back. “My boss, Val, is just freaked out about the news, too. Like I said, everyone’s losing their shit.”

            “Yeah, that’s true. Sinners are desperate,” said Vaggie. “Maybe desperate enough to try anything to escape the next extermination?” She smiled at Charlie.

            “This is the perfect time to recruit more sinners for the hotel!” said Charlie excitedly.

            “People will do everything except for try to change themselves,” said (Y/N), dubious of that idea. “If exterminations have been going on for…forever, I don’t really know if this will change anything yet. You’d have to be really convincing.”

            “Well, yeah, but that’s why I have to go out and gather people myself!” said Charlie. “It’s not people are going to show up on our doorstep.”

            Boom!

            The wall exploded (again).

            “Show yourself, Alastor!” cried a familiarly snakelike and dramatic voice. It was Sir Pentious from the previous incident, back to get his ass beat again (because what else was going to happen to him? Alastor was way more powerful than him). “Come and face—”

            “Will you shut up?!” snapped (Y/N), leaning their head out the hole. “We’re trying to handle some problems in here!”

            Pentious deflated in disappointment as the teenager glared at him, completed unintimidated. “I’m not here for you! I’m here for Alastor!”

            Hearing the commotion and always loving some entertainment, Alastor popped out of the shadows with a mug that said “Hello, Deer.” “Who are you?” he asked.

            “Who am I?! Who am I!?” cried Pentious. “I am the great Sir Pentious! Inventor, architect of destruction, villain extraordinaire!”

            “Ooh, he’s a bad boy,” said Niffty, grinning.

            “Huh, well, if all that’s true, you’d think I’d have heard of you,” said Alastor, grinning.

            “I attacked you literally last week,” said Pentious.

            Alastor tilted his head, clearly not remembering a thing.

            “We’ve done battle like twenty times!” said Pentious.

            “Well, you must have been really bad at this,” said Alastor.

            “Silence! Now cower!” cried Pentious. “For when I’ve slain you, the almighty Vees will finally acknowledge me as their equal!”

            (Y/N) looked at Vaggie. “Who are the Vees?”

            “Velvette, Valentino, and Vox—three of the worst Overlords. Velvette deals in fashion and social media, Valentino runs Hell’s biggest porn studio, and Vox controls almost all technology,” said Vaggie. She crossed her arms. “Don’t get involved with them. They’re manipulative pieces of shit.”

            “Definitely am not planning it,” said (Y/N). They didn’t want to get put under anyone’s thumb after their life.

            “They’re nobody important,” said Alastor.

l

            “You know, Angel isn’t the only one spending time at that ratty hotel with the devil’s princessa,” said Valentino.

            “Oh, who else is there? Someone who owes you money?” asked Vox.

            Valentino chuckled. “Someone who owes us much more than money. The Radio Demon is there.”

            Vox’s screen sparked, and his nails dug into the desk. “What did you say?”

            “You heard me,” said Valentino.

            “Alastor came back, and he is with Lucifer’s daughter, and that wasn’t the first fucking thing you told me?!” snapped Vox.

            “Hey, killing Alastor is your kink,” said Valentino, waving a hand.

            Vox glared at the screens in the room, and one switched onto a recording on the hotel so he could glare at the gathering outside. Alastor, who kept glitching in the recording, was grinning and standing beside Lucifer’s daughter, her girlfriend, Angel, and a young demon with a rose motif.

l

            “Oh, please, stop!” cried Pentious as his ship was once again torn apart by shadows while Alastor cackled in amusement.

            “Um, Alastor? I think he’s had enough,” said Charlie.

            “I don’t know, he came here asking for it,” said (Y/N), smiling brightly.

            “Oh, yeah, he’s got a few more hits in ‘im,” snickered Angel.

            Pentious fell out of his ship and landed on the ground.

            “Thanks for another forgettable experience,” said Alastor with a wide grin.

            “Thank…you…” groaned Pentious. “For letting your guard down!” His tail shot out, tore off a piece of Alastor’s coat, and retreated. Pentious laughed.

            A large shadow loomed over him.

            “Oh, shit.”

            Green magic exploded from Alastor, and Pentious was sent flying out of the hotel’s airspace.

            “Well, it looks as though I need a visit to the tailor,” said Alastor, turning away from the flying snake without a care. “Best of luck, chums!”

            “Wait, you’re leaving?” said Vaggie. “Alastor, we need your help. We need you to do your job.”

            “We need a wall,” said Angel.

            “Of course! Can’t let my new project fall into disrepair already! What would the papers say?” Alastor snapped his fingers, and shadow workers, like from the advertisement, popped up to help rebuild the wall. Satisfied, Alastor turned and walked away.

            Angel grinned and approached the shadows. “Hey, sweet cheeks. What you doin’ later?”

            “I’m out,” said (Y/N), turning away before they had to see Angel flirt more.

            “Can you at least help us?” asked Vaggie, gesturing to the destroyed wall.

            “…Do I look like I have experience building walls?” said (Y/N), frowning.

            “You can buy us a new painting. Charlie likes having decorations, and one got destroyed by Sir Pentious,” said Vaggie.

            (Y/N) considered. “Are you giving me money?”

            “Yes,” said Vaggie.

            “Ok, sure,” said (Y/N), shrugging.

            “Right,” said Vaggie, pulling out cash. “And here, I’ll show you where to go.”

            She pulled out her phone to show a map of the Pride ring. The last thing they needed was (Y/N) getting lost and getting into trouble. Actually, Charlie would probably be against sending (Y/N) out for an errand, but Vaggie had seen they were going a bit stir crazy from being at the hotel all the time, so the least she could do was give (Y/N) a short errand to run to one of the more civilized/reputable areas of Pride. And if there was any trouble, Vaggie would go into town and intercede with her spear.

l

            (Y/N) hadn’t expected running an errand in Hell to go so smoothly. After every other person at the hotel complained or ran into some trouble (Angel: old customers, Vaggie and Charlie: haters of the hotel, Husk: people in general), (Y/N) had expected to have to stay on their toes. Instead, they had gone into the shop Vaggie asked them to, purchased a non-inappropriate painting, and headed out with enough change to buy themself something.

            (Y/N) had seen a café on the way into town, and now the sweets were calling their name as they headed back. Seeing as they never got to treat themself in life, why not do so in death?

            (Ironically, so far their death had been better and more filled with friendship than their life had been.)

            (Y/N) walked through the streets, pausing only to make sure they had the right directions. Sure, they’d been fine so far, but they weren’t going to test their luck by going anywhere they weren’t supposed to.

            (Y/N) passed by a group of demons staring at television screens in a store window, entranced. Curious, (Y/N) paused to glance at the screens.

            They were displaying an advertisement for merchandise from the very store they were standing in. People were in a trance watching, and they all immediately rushed inside to purchase what they’d seen advertised.

            (Y/N) frowned. Looking at the screens gave them a headache, so (Y/N) turned to walk away. They had a bad feeling about the store and technology—so missing from the hotel—and they weren’t going to ignore that feeling.

            No sooner had (Y/N) decided to ignore the screens that one buzzed to life, and sparks jumped from the screen. (Y/N) froze as the sparks formed the body of a man with a TV for a head in front of them on the sidewalk, effectively blocking their path.

            Well, shit, I don’t think I’ve successfully avoided trouble, thought (Y/N). It didn’t take a genius to realize this was Vox, who Vaggie had warned them about.

            “No interest in any technology?” said Vox with a wide, electric grin.

            “Nope.” (Y/N) kept their answer short and curt, trying to get out of the conversation.

            “You’re one of the sinners staying at the princess’s hotel,” said Vox, eyes narrowing calculatingly. His smile widened. “I don’t believe you have a phone. Are you sure you don’t need one?” He held out his hand, and a phone was held in it. “Think of it as a welcome gift to Hell.”

            “I’m not interested,” said (Y/N), stepping around Vox to attempt an escape from the encounter.

            Vox turned immediately, still smiling widely. Apparently, it wasn’t going to be that easy to avoid him. “I’m just trying to support the hotel. Like the Radio Demon.” His smile glitched slightly.

            Oh. So that’s what this was. Vox was just trying to get in Alastor’s hair and annoy him.

            “Yeah, well, we’re okay,” said (Y/N), taking a step away.

            “Are you sure?” One of Vox’s eyes pulsed with energy, and (Y/N)’s headache grew stronger.

            “Yes,” said (Y/N) firmly.

            “I think that you may want to reconsider,” said Vox, eye still swirling.

            “I think I’m fine,” said (Y/N). “So just leave me alone.” They narrowed their eyes.

            Vox’s screen sparked, and his eyes narrowed.

            Danger, danger!

            Sparks flew at (Y/N).

            Bam!

            A bramble of vines and thorns erupted from the ground and blocked the sparks. (Y/N)’s eyes widened, and Vox sparked.

            “What the—”

            “My, my, are you bothering one of my guests?”

            A shadow loomed over Vox and (Y/N). Vox flinched and looked to see Alastor with a wide, threatening smile.

            “Really, Vox, what terrible manners,” said Alastor.

            “Radio Demon,” snapped Vox.

            “Yes, precisely,” said Alastor. “So run along and leave my guests alone. Really, how unbecoming.” His grin sharpened. “Unless, of course, if you’d like to have another little competition.”

            Vox glared, and his screen glitched. However, he wasn’t interested in going toe-to-toe with Alastor again after getting his entire network shut down for a few hours, so with a final angry glare, he dissolved into electricity and disappeared into the TVs he came from.

            “Well, what a terrible way to end a day out,” tsked Alastor.

            “Yeah,” said (Y/N), making a face.

            Alastor looked at the briar sticking up from the ground. “And what might this be?”

            (Y/N) stared at it. “It just kind of…appeared.”

            Alastor raised an eyebrow. “When Vox threatened you?”

            “Uh, yeah,” said (Y/N), touching the vine curiously. It flinched and disappeared back into the ground. “Huh.”

            Alastor grinned. “How interesting.”

            “What do you mean?” said (Y/N), cocking their head.

            “That, my dear, is magic,” said Alastor. His grin had widened in amusement. “It seems you’re going to be an entertaining guest.”

            “Oh, yay,” said (Y/N) sarcastically. “That’s exactly what I’m hoping to be.”

            Alastor laughed and waved a hand. “Have no fear, have no fear. Why, the entertainment I’m looking for is you struggling with that magic.”

            “Thanks,” said (Y/N), still deadpan. “I’ll make sure to practice in front of you so you can laugh.

            Alastor grinned. “Why, thank you, dear! Perhaps I’ll even give you a few tips!”

            (Y/N) looked at him, rolled their eyes, and shrugged. “Have fun.”

            “Oh, I always do,” chirped Alastor. “Now, come, let’s return to the hotel. No point getting into more trouble, even if you’ve discovered magic.” He looked at them. “And I do intend to give you a few tips.”

            “Wait, really?” said (Y/N), blinking in surprise.

            “Of course. I can’t have my guests being helpless,” said Alastor, twirling his staff.

            (Y/N) perked up. “Thanks, Alastor!”

            He glanced at them, surprised at the boisterous honesty. He decided not to respond, and the pair walked back towards Hazbin Hotel in silence.

            That was fine with (Y/N). They were contemplating finally having some power of their own for their own life.

l

            “Oh, good, you made it back alright!” said Charlie. She smiled at (Y/N). “Vaggie told me she sent you out, and I was worried!”

            “I didn’t mind going out. I’m going stir crazy here,” said (Y/N).

            “And they have proven themself capable of keeping themself safe,” said Alastor with a grin.

            Vaggie frowned. “Wait, did something happen?”

            (Y/N) coughed. “You know how you told me to avoid the Vees?”

            “Yeah?” said Vaggie, narrowing her eyes.

            “Vox decided to pop out of a TV in front of me,” said (Y/N).

            “What?!” cried Vaggie.

            “Relax, they were fine,” said Alastor. He twirled his staff. “I interceded before anything could happen to them, and Vox’s sparks couldn’t even hurt them.” His grin widened. “They summoned magic of their own.”

            “You did?” said Charlie excitedly.

            (Y/N) nodded. “Apparently, yeah.”

            “That’s awesome!” said Charlie encouragingly.

            “Yes, it’s quite unusual,” said Alastor. “And I intend to teach them.”

            Everyone froze and stared at Alastor.

            “You what?” repeated Charlie, an awkward smile on her face.

            “I will be teaching (Y/N) to use their magic. We can’t have them being helpless, now, can we?” Alastor still wore his signature grin, as mischievous as ever.

            Oh shit, thought everyone. If there was one thing they knew, it was Alastor taking a liking to the teenager couldn’t be a good thing. It could only spell trouble and mischief.

            And, unfortunately for them, (Y/N) wore an excited grin that promised all that trouble and more.

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[bibibbon]

I don't even know what to say about the ending, because my expectations for it were so non-existent, but I will say this:

1A as a found family? Not canon. It really makes 1A look bad that once Izuku becomes Quirkless again, they don't talk as much anymore. It's only when he becomes Iron Izuku that they start talking to him again. Izuku even says how lonely he is now that his classmates are heroes and he isn't!

Hori's message that anyone can be a hero, even without a Quirk? Complete and utter bullshit. Again, without Iron Izuku - which took 8 YEARS to develop, he didn't stand a chance. Even All Might could only be a hero after Kamini Ward with Iron Might and that only lasted like 5 minutes.

The hero ranking system and hero culture as a whole? Basically the same as before. Apparently, the low crime rate has concentrated the pool of heroes to those who have strong Quirks.

Literally the only good thing about the ending is that Bakugou didn't become the #1 hero, and even that shows that because he NEVER FUCKING CHANGED, he's dropping in the ranks.

Hi @nutzgunray-lvt 👋

Honestly, same all I can do to describe the ending of MHA is underwhelming and horrible.

Moving on you are right 1A didn't have a good found family bond and canon even shows this and supports this. After they graduated and became heroes it seems like they lost contact with eachother and didn't meet eachother for casual talks or just hanging out because they're days off didn't align or their just wasn't and effort made. Heck we don't see a little reunion or even simple text messages it just seems like they drift apart and no one seems to even comfort izuku when he is officially quirkless.

I have said it and I will say it again I hate the whole concept of iron might or iron Izuku. I don't know why but I simply don't like it and the fact that it proves that you do need a quirk to become a hero. The series seems to have horrible messaging and the whole definition of hero seems to stick to the same definition in chapter one "a job, a career" that's it not it being "to help people and help society". "Anyone can be a hero" but you can't if youre quirkless I guess🤷‍♀️ .

I stand by my point that izuku could of became a quirkless hero. Not a hero like all might but a hero for sure and at this point it seems sad to see izuku lose OFA and just become iron Izuku it's just pitiful and empty and bland and bleak and well you get the jist of it.

Hero culture and heroics is still toxic. Heck I think you could argue that it's become even more toxic that the hero environment has been saturated by those that have strong quirks. It also seems like hawks really didn't do anything at all to change the system except of add a bit so other people can be celebrated but the hero polls still stand with bakugo being aggressive as ever and again showing us that he hasn't changed and his treatment to izuku seems to be the only thing that hori focuses on even though there is no focus on it from Izuku's perspective aka making all of bakugos development that is only towards izuku null.

May I also bring the point that it wasn't hawks who even tried introducing a new quirk counselling system but it was ochako?!?!!! Iam sorry it was ochako who even introduced it and is changing it like why isn't hawks there helping he is after all the head of HPSC after all. Also, the whole idea of heroes only being people with strong quirks and that the crime rate is low maybe because of it paints a horrible picture. This whole idea also proves that history is just rhyming and will soon probably repeat itself sooner or later that is.

[bahrtofane]

here we go again - pt.3

pt. 1 , pt.2

jude x fem!reader , trent x fem!reader

empty promise after another leaves you walking in the cold. alone. on valentines day. youre never speaking to another player again. or will you? can things be forgiven?

Word count - 1.9K +

Watch it - reader so sad but dw bae it gets better ! jude. Just jude. hehehe

—--

Madrid is bleak and bland when you get back, eager to find a routine, to busy yourself with anything, everything.

It's almost like there's a big joke being played on you because you're given Jude to create promotional posters for. It makes you want to cry, but you suck it up, download the pictures and get to work. Even if you have to scribble his face out the whole time.

Avoiding Jude becomes your obsession. You make it your top priority to avoid seeing him in person under any and all costs. You refuse to go anywhere near the stadium, training facilities. Blocking official accounts and avoiding tv when you know they're set to play.

You find jude everywhere. In the cracks of sidewalks where flowers bloom. Inside coffee shops when the smell of vanilla hits your face, under bridges where graffiti of smiley faces litter the concrete. 

His presence looms over the city like a specter, mocking your attempts to move on. You long for the day when his memory no longer haunts you, when you can walk through Madrid without feeling his presence at every turn.

Until then, you cling to the hope that time will heal the wounds he left behind, and that one day, you'll be able to reclaim the city as your own. But for now, Madrid remains a bleak and lonely place, haunted by the ghost of a love lost.

—-

Trent calls you about a week after you land, in the middle of your morning routine.

“How are you?”

You stifle a sigh, picking at your nails, “I'm really just peachy Trent,” padding over to your kitchen, opening the fridge.

“You know what I mean.”

You grab what you need, using your hip to close the fridge “I don't know why you keep calling me Trent. I'm fine. Tell jude to fuck off yeah?”

You hear a sigh from the other end, “jude has nothing to do with me checking up on you.”

“Sure.” you hang up. And he doesn’t call again.

—--

The office is always full of energy on match days, and you hate how it's become a tradition to all watch together. Weather in the stands or from the actual office. Your desire to show up in a barca jersey is very very strong.

Today is one day where you walk single file to the stadium and find your seats. Curse working for madrid, it brings you a little too close to the pitch for comfort. You spend half the game on your phone, even when your coworkers gently nudge your shoulder when Jude speeds to the post, you mumble something about work that needs to be done (you're on your settings.)

Jude scores, of course he does. And it's a beautiful goal, straight power, nothing but net. You're up cheering before you can stop yourself, smiling. You're smiling at Jude scoring. 

He jogs over to the crowd per usual, caught up in the adrenaline. He doesn't think he'll ever get used to scoring at home. The feeling is unbeatable. His eyes scan the crowd, and they just so happen to land on you. 

You're here? The cheers of the crowd fade out, his arms falling to his side, he's staring right at you. He's taken back to the night he left you alone. He’s a fucking idiot. You don't look away, if anything you lean forward in your seat. You're here. 

—--

Against better judgment he goes looking for you after the game. Running down hallways still in his kit, looking a mess with grass stuck all over him. At least he managed to kick his cleats off and grab the nearest slides he could find. He's pretty sure these aren't his but he doesn't care. Not right now.

He knows the staff tend to hang around after games, the issue is where.

Curse the never ending construction. The  place is a maze, an awful one without, with it feels like he's entering a different dimension at every turn.

He hears laughing and speeds down to find himself in a lounge full of people, all who rush to him to sing praises. He smiles. Trying not to get blinded by flash photography. A voice cuts through the crowd, a soft laugh. 

You're here. Oh you're here. 

He sees you tuck a piece of paper into a folder, smiling softly, patting the back of what he assumes to be a coworker as you make your way to the exit.

He tries to get past the people who surround him, but you're already gone. He's lost you again, all while you were right in front of him.

He goes home that night unable to sleep, eat, think. He blames himself, of course he does. It's his fault isn't it?

Somewhere during his night routine he thinks that there's an ounce of hope to fix this. 

He calls trent. 

“I don't know man.” Trent mumbles on the other end. 

“I gotta at least try right?” 

There's a beat of silence that lasts a moment too long, “if that's what you want.”

Jude thanks him for his time anyway. Tucking himself into bed. 

He scrolls through instagram on his burner account, finding your account again. The request button taunts him, but he knows you wont accept. Instead clicking on your profile picture, watching it take up his screen and he sighs. He really has to get his life together doesn't he.

—--

The next time Jude sees you is at an event. Black tie in a nearby hotel. He misses getting ready with you for these, with all your products and accessories lining his sink while he watched you fondly.

“Do I look okay?” you would ask each time, leaning a hand on the sink while the other smoothed down the creases on your dress. Doing a once over in his mirror.

He would hum softly, pressing a kiss to your shoulder, “you look amazing.”

You'd blush, swatting him away playfully. Pressing a kiss to his cheek and promising to see him there.

The same mirror now stares back at him cooly. His sink is empty, as his house is. He misses the smell of your perfume, your clothes that littered his space. He misses how you made it a home.

He sees you there all the same, mingling with your coworkers. You look amazing, that hasn't changed. The dark circles under your eyes have, two purple half moons stamped rather aggressively on your skin. How long has it been since you got proper nights rest jeez.

He makes his rounds to everyone. Brand ambassadors, staff, teammates, a list of high profile people he doesn't care to repeat. He leaves your little corner last on purpose. He doesn't want anything to get in the way.

He slides over to where you hug a glass of water to your chest, nodding along to something a man in a blue suit is saying. Pfft blue what a rookie choice. Jude is in all black, did you notice? It was your favorite on him.

You did notice, and try to suppress the desire to hurl when he walks over to you. 

Jude gets to say no more than a sloppy greeting in Spanish before he's grabbed by the arm and taken back to where he thinks the owner of the hotel is standing.

You sigh in relief, and he sighs in frustration.

Fate has driven you apart once more it seems.

—--

Jude is a stubborn stubborn man. You can't seem to outrun him, no matter how many calls and texts you ignore, or block his accounts. Nor how you manage to slip out from right in front of him. Fate is on his side today it seems.

He shows up to your office, flowers in hand. Your favorite flowers, tied neatly with a ribbon of your favorite color, a card neatly tucked under the petals. 

Your coworkers are in uttersock, not even trying to hide their surprise as he marches over to your desk.

You type faster, ignoring him, or trying to. The gazes on you burn, almost as much as they did on the night he left you to rot. Why is he here?

“Hey,” he tries, meekly. He wants to punch himself in the face. Hey? Really? 

You don't look up from your monitor, opening more tabs, swiping your mouse against your desk furiously. You think the battery just fell out.

“Listen, I know I'm horrible, a piece of shit, the worst man alive, I don't deserve you in the slightless. But I love you.” he scrambled out in one breath.

You whip your head up at him,”love? You love me so much you took me to a club on valentines day?”

He winces, “it was so stupid. I'm so stupid. Please, let me make it up to you.” he pleads. 

You sigh, throwing your head back in your chair, rolling your eyes,”are you actually going to change Jude. Are you going to stop this nonsense and treat me like you actually mean what you say?”

“Yes,” he nods furiously, “I promise. Not a day will go by without me proving it to you, I swear.”

You look back at him. He's worn your favorite cologne, the sweater you used to always steal on cold nights. The flowers are beautiful. You missed him, you missed him so much, to the point that you're really considering it. 

Someone coughs in the cubicle next to you and you groan, gathering your things and hastily walking to the door, motioning for Jude to follow.

He looks like a newborn puppy, almost tripping on his feet while he follows you through hallways and corridors till you reach a stairwell you know for certain no one will walk through.

“Jude, I hope you know what you did broke me, it really broke me. I think you ruined my ego, permanently.”

He nods, leaning on the railing while he clutches the bouquet with so much force you're scared they're going to be wrung like a wet rag. 

“But,” you raise a finger to him, “ and this is a big big but, if you can prove these things instead of saying them, i'll consider giving you another proper chance okay?”

You see the tension visibly ease from his shoulders as he sighs softly, “Okay, yes, thank you. Thank you so much,” he brings the flowers forward, waiting for you to take them.

And you do, gently picking the note from the petals, you'll read this when you get home.

“I uh also, booked a dinner of your favorite place in a few days, in case you were willing to give me another chance i didn't want to mess it up again and if you don't have anything else going on and i just-” you take his hand in yours, stopping his ramblings effectively as he looks away. All of a sudden so shy as if you haven't stayed at his place for days at a time.

“I'll go Jude. I'm free, don't worry.”

“Great. 7 sound good?”

“Sounds perfect. Ill see you then okay?”

“Okay,” he mumbles, soft and sweet.

With a smile you send him off, almost flying down the stairs in pure glee. You shake your head fondly, heading back to your work. The flowers weigh more than just their physical weight. The letters feel like a ton on its own.

You hope you made the right choice.

[tiredofthehumanlife]

Lakeside naps

Barbie dolls: Peacekeeper! Coriolanus x gn!Covey!Reader

Word: 6.4k

Summary: you get nightmares after the games all Abt your mentor dying in front of you and when you catch a glimpse of him in the crowd you freak

Warnings: nightmares, death, blood, guns, the games™️, uh private snow is like chill with ppl seeing him with a covey bc I'm too lazy to write that conflict, before coryo loses his shit so he still has friends, him and Lucy Gray are besties in the in-law sense, you and the Covey are tight, 🤞besties for the resties, you scratch yourself on oopsies so like accidental self harm ig idk man, panic attacks and trauma kinda, nausea mentioned, you play an instrument now cuz you're Covey, yeah that's it

You hadn't thought of life after the Games when your name was called. You decided right then and there, that was the sound of your name getting etched into a gravestone. The stone your family would all surround and leave brightly colored flowers on.

You shakily made it up to the stage not daring to meet anyone's eyes. Standing next to the mayor you stared at all the faces of the Covey watching you in horror.

A scream to the left shocked you out of your self-pity. You looked over to see a man you knew always dropped something in your basket at the Hob pulling a thrashing Maude Ivory back into the crowd. She wasn't nearly old enough to have her name in the drawing, thank the stars. She yanked and pulled at the man, trying to run towards you. You hated being a whim to your nature, but you still cried out her name in response. Maude Ivory paused her movements, holding still in the man's arms. Two peacekeepers noticed all the hustle and bustle, holding onto your arms to pull you away. 

“I’ll be okay! I'll be fine! Just keep singing, baby! Keep your head high!” You screamed at Maude Ivory. You struggled against the hold of the Peacekeepers.

You weren't sure if you've ever hated the Capitol more than in that moment. With Lucy Gray pushing people out of the way to pull Maude Ivory from the man's arms and hold Maude to her rainbow dress. With Peacekeepers’ fingers digging into the skin of your arm. With the guarantee of your death pinned to your shirt as you were now a tribute. With all the struggle you put in to make it where you were now, thrown out the window for a little Capitol enjoyment. 

In the moment it all seemed bleak. Later in the arena it was still really fucking bleak but you knew you had at least one person in your corner. Your mentor, Coriolanus. With each moment of the game, you kept the Covey and home out of your head. You couldn't bear to think of what they were feeling if they got to reach the TV signal. You didn't think about what it would be like to go home. You thought of him. Thankfully he was rather attractive so thinking about him wasn't anything difficult.

When you won, you thought of him more. He saved your life, technically. Coriolanus cheated for you, you knew that. Holding the compact in your hands was enough evidence of that. You didn't know what that meant for him but you knew one thing. You got to go home. On the travel back to 12, you thought of everything. 

You thought of your home, though a little shabby it was better than most people in District 12 had. It was warm with the love of all your family. You couldn't wait to get back into some clean bright clothes and sing on stage again.

You thought of how Maude Ivory would lose her mind. You thought of how CC would show you all the cool things he scavenged, fun feathers, shiny rocks, and a bottle cap from thirty years ago he found in the mud. At least that's what you would imagine he found in the time you were gone. You thought of Barb Azure sitting you down and telling you of all her romantic drama that you missed. You thought of Tam Amber pulling you into a hug. He didn't need to tell you anything you just needed to be held in your family's arms for a few minutes. You thought of Lucy Gray rattling on about all the songs she had been working on. 

You thought of Coriolanus. What happened to him? Did he get caught? Was he already getting ready for University? Was he thinking of you? Did you mean as much to him as he meant to you? Did he even really care that you won besides the fact that it meant he won, too? He was so hard to get a read on. You gave up on trying to figure out what happened to him. Your life in the Capitol was over and therefore any relationships that spawned from it were over, romantic or not. 

When you did get home, you got the warmest welcome you could've ever imagined. The sky was clear thankfully, you worried about the rain soaking through your clothes. The rain must've noticed how important this day was for you because it held back its downpour.

When you stomped up the wooden steps, knocking on the door like it wasn't your own home, you heard yelling. The first one out the door was Maude Ivory. She came barreling towards you, her arms in the air and a laugh radiating off her body. You quickly scooped her up and hugged her tightly. She relaxed in your arms, letting out a muffled cry into your shirt. 

“I told you I'd be fine, didn't I?” you asked. You were lying when you told her that over her screams. Now you were going to say it was just intuition. You'll take credit for that. Maude Ivory pulled back and wiped at her face. She nodded. 

“Yes. I'm so glad you're back.” She whispered pulling on your dirty clothes. You worried there was still blood somewhere on them but the sound of a herd of feet rushing through the house washed away your worries. 

You heard the back screen door slam its wooden frame against the wall. By the footsteps of the runner, you could tell it was Barb Azure making her way around the wrap-around porch. She crashed into you soon after, flinging you to the wooden planks. You laughed on the ground, hugging her back. You both sat up as she started speaking a mile a minute about how happy she was to see you again. You ignored the pain in the back of your head from crashing, much more concerned with the growing appearances of your family. 

CC and Tam Amber were next, falling to their knees and scooting closer to you. Tam Amber pulled you into a hug just like you knew he would. CC was tugging on your arm in excitement. You couldn't catch up to his words but you caught ‘rock’, ‘actually a geode’, ‘bright blue’, and ‘fluffy’. You didn't bother trying to come up with the meaning. 

Lucy Gray was last, dropping her guitar to the ground a little too hard in your opinion. She pulled you into a tight hug, kissing all over your head and clutching you to her chest. You laughed and pulled away, holding your arms out to all of your family's bright eyes. You couldn't imagine being happier than when you were held in a giant group hug from them all. 

Your first night back you couldn't sleep, like your body weren't sure if you were out of the arena yet. Lucy Gray stayed up with you, trying to lull you to sleep with songs.

It didn't work until the third night. You had clutched onto her tight she didn't even bother trying to leave your bed. Lucy Gray stopped her song when your breathing was slow and you stopped wiggling around. She fell asleep holding you to her chest and she felt a stone leave her shoulders at the thought of you finally being comfortable back home. 

That was the first night you realized you were never leaving the Games. You might be out of the arena but your mind would always have that stain of blood on it.

The colorful snakes were wrapping around your body, holding you to a chair. You gasped as one started to wrap around your throat. It started to tighten as a light turned on the other side of the room.

There he was, your mentor Coriolanus tied to a chair. He flung his head up, his hair falling out of place and his red uniform dissolved as he thrashed against the restraints. Your hands flashed to the snake around your throat as a gun pressed to his temple. You tried to scream and pull away but you weren't successful, the snakes pulled on your skin and cut off your air supply. You were positive you were going to have bruises if you managed to survive. You couldn't even gasp with the snake around your neck tightening more. As the snake opened its mouth and lunged to bite your neck the gun went off. 

You screamed as you sat up in the bed, trying to scramble away from Coriolanus’ headless body and the snakes. Lucy Gray bolted up from the mattress, searching for the trouble around the room. You hit your head on the wall as you kept pushing yourself back, pulling at the snakes around your arms and neck. Your hands came back empty. 

“Off! Get them off! Help Lucy Gray! Please! Get them off me!” You screamed continuing to pull at the colorful scales. Lucy Gray reached out and pulled your hands away, cupping your face. 

“There's nothing on you, you're safe. You're not in the arena. It's okay.” Lucy Gray said. Your breath came back to your lungs as you came into your surroundings again. Coriolanus’ brains weren't splattered on your wall. There were no snakes. You were home in your bed.

Lucy Gray scooted next to you and pulled your head to her chest. You clutched onto her as you slowly came back into your body. Your cheeks were wet and your arms and throat were stinging. When you glanced down at your arms you realized you had scratched yourself in efforts to pull the snakes off. Lucy Gray started humming and rocking you back and forth. You sighed against her, impossibly glad you were home. 

“He died.” You whispered. Even if it was a part of your nightmare it doesn't mean it was any less plausible. The Capitol was bloodthirsty, if they found out about what he did for you he'd be dead in seconds. Lucy Gray tutted and rubbed your shoulder. 

“No, no. He's just fine. Up in the Capitol, getting ready for the University of his dreams. He's not in any trouble. You don't need to worry about him, that was just your dream.” Lucy Gray said, dropping a kiss to the top of your head. You knew she had absolutely no idea whether or not Coriolanus was okay but his words still helped soothe your heart. You wiped at your face while staying in her hold. The bedroom door flung open and Lucy Gray’s humming stopped. The rest of the Covey were dressed in their pajamas, each with their own weapon. 

Tam Amber was wielding a pan. He looked around the room, swishing it around like he could catch the offender off guard. Barb Azure must’ve followed him to the kitchen to find a weapon because she was holding a knife at her side. CC had his hands raised up like a ninja, hopping around the room in a strange stance. Maude Ivory was holding a stray guitar string between her hands. You wondered if she thought of using it as a garrote and if so where did she get that idea? 

“It was just a nightmare, you all can go back to sleep.” You said, watching as they all dropped their shoulders in relaxation. Maude Ivory dropped one side of the string. She stepped closer to the bed, staring at you severely. 

“Was it about the Capitol?” She asked. You nodded, feeling another wave of tears choke on the back of your throat. Maude Ivory sighed. 

“I’m okay now Maude, just go back to bed.” You reassured, pulling away from Lucy Gray. You just needed Maude Ivory to go to sleep already. She gets grumpy without enough sleep. Maude Ivory shook her head and climbed up into the bed with you. Barb Azure went around the group, collecting their weapons, and left the room. CC and Tam Amber ventured closer to the bed, like slowly inching toward a wounded and scared dog. Maude Ivory pulled you into a hug. 

“I just want you to be okay, I wish they never sent you into that stupid Capitol.” Maude Ivory said into your shoulder. You returned the hug. You shouldn’t feel guilty for scaring Maude Ivory. You still do. You hummed and pressed your cheek against the top of her messy hair. 

“I’ll be okay, sweetheart. My brain is just scared because it thinks I’m still there. I’ll be okay.” You said, petting down the knot of hair at the back of her head. You should start braiding her hair before bed this is a hot mess. Maude Ivory hums and pulls back slightly. CC stood in front of you reaching his hand out for you. You held onto it. 

“Are you sure? You can talk to us. Promise, you can tell us anything.” CC said. If the arena was different, if your choices were different, if being a tribute was something entirely different than it was, you could’ve shared. It’s not as simple as that. Telling a 12 and 8-year-old you helped in the murder of children, just isn’t the same as telling them you had a bad dream about getting eaten by a shark. You can’t tell CC that though, instead giving him a smile and nodding. Barb Azure joined the informal family gathering with no weapons this time. 

“I’m fine, CC. I just made a friend while I was there and I had a bad dream he got hurt, that's all. I’m okay.” You assured, rubbing your thumb over the back of his hand. CC wasn’t nearly as skeptical as Tam Amber. CC smiled and accepted your answer. Tam Amber raised an eyebrow at you, crossing his arms over his body. Barb Azure noticed the twist of the attitude in the air. 

“Okay come on, kiddos. We have a big day tomorrow. Time to get to bed.” Barb Azure said, shooing CC and Maude Ivory out of the room to their shared room. There were only three bedrooms so it was usual to share. You and Lucy Gray shared, your beds on either side of the room. Lucy Gray had joined you in yours after the first night of insomnia. Tam Amber and Barb Azure shared. As Tam Amber stared you down, you wished he was a heavier sleeper. Barb Azure joined the room again, saying CC and Maude Ivory were tucked into bed. Tam Amber sat down on the bed next to you, taking your hand into his and staring at you. Barb Azure sat on the ground in front of you, looking up at you. 

“Tell us, everything. If you have to carry the weight of the Games, so do we. Maybe CC and Maude get to stay ignorant but we don’t. If it hurts you this way we need to know in order to help.” Tam Amber said. You sighed and leaned into his side.

Lucy Gray, Barb Azure, and Tam Amber all listened intently as you told them everything. Step by step. Every detail you could remember. Every single detail. By the end of it, Barb Azure was pressing a hand to her mouth to keep her nausea down. Lucy Gray was holding your arm to her chest like she was scared her name was about to get called. Tam Amber had hidden his head behind your shoulder. 

It took a lot of strength but you were so glad you shared. It made the weight easier. You could breathe a little easier. They were all supportive of you.

Maude Ivory and CC were helpful in their childish and innocent ways. It helped you see the light of your situation. Sure maybe you were a murderer but your cousins would’ve been devastated if you had died.

Tam Amber understood when you just wanted to be quiet, not alone, just quiet. You’d both sit in comfortable silence. Silence was rare with Covey around but the others stayed quiet when they passed by the silent room. Maude Ivory even tiptoed.

Barb Azure understood when you just needed to think about something else, talking animatedly about all the drama and gossip floating around town. All her troubles and simple things to keep your thoughts on something else.

Lucy Gray knew all the messy parts of life after the Games. The nightmares, the cries, the screams, all the pain. Tam and Barb knew too of course but not like her. She held you through the nightmares, singing to relax you. She’d take you out to the meadow to let you scream, throw rocks, and kick trees. She comforted you when your foot hurt from kicking trees. 

Finally, the Covey got their gig at the Hob back. Really you never lost it but apparently, the rest of the Covey couldn’t handle singing on a stage without your presence.

You felt like you were getting back into your life when you stepped up onto the stage. The band felt lively as everyone’s sounds were harmonizing again. You were so happy your talent with your instrument didn’t disappear with the stability of your mind and innocence. Your smile returned and you felt at home. More than you did when your family knocked you to the wooden planks of your front porch.

As you played your instrument with your whole heart glad you were back in with the band. All the sounds of your family playing a sound that made the audience dance along. You stuck to Tam Amber’s side, glad he floated towards the back wall. Not that you didn’t trust your back with your family but the anxiety from that stupid arena made you feel like someone might sneak up behind you. You moved along with the song, a slight dance in your step as you kept playing. Tam Amber gave you a smile, glad to see you comfortable. 

You returned the smile, looking away from him to drag the smile to the audience’s faces. You kept your slight dance, a bob really.

The audience was always a mixture of all kinds of people. Starving miners who just want to get drunk and dance, mothers and fathers with sleeping kids at home keeping their drinks down to a minimum, and even some peacekeepers from the base on the edge of town. You glanced around at the faces.

You saw the man who held back Maude Ivory, smiling as bright as you’ve ever seen him. He was probably happy to see the whole Covey family together again. You saw two peacekeepers dance with each other, laughing loudly even if their steps are messy. A woman was tap dancing in the corner. You would’ve laughed at that but you were just glad she was happy tap dancing in worker boots on dirt floors. Your smile grew as you saw your home dancing around to the music you were making. As you looked over at another group of people, your eyes snagged on a familiar face. 

He was bobbing up and down. His head was shaved and his lips were trying to smother the smile on his face. He wasn’t in his red uniform anymore, instead casual clothes you knew the peacekeepers were issued. Even with all the changes you knew it was him.

Coriolanus saw you and gave you a small smile. You didn’t smile back, your hands stalling on your instrument. Him being here could only mean one thing. No, two things. No, too many things.

He was dead and haunting you for technically being the reason for his death. He actually wasn’t there and you have officially lost your mind. You were hallucinating. He was here to get revenge on you for being the reason he got banished to District 12. The Games were still on no matter which one it was. 

Your smile and instrument fell at the same time. You gasped for air as you felt the walls closing in on you. He was coming to kill you. Everyone else in the crowd was on his side. You ducked down behind Tam Amber, pressing your palms into your ears to stop the rapid heartbeat ringing in them.

Tam Amber ditched the tune he was plucking out, squatting next to you and shielding you from the audience. He rubbed your back, whispering in your ear all the things Lucy, Barb, and Tam realized helped ground you. Your name. Your family’s names. Your home. Your current location, and simple reassurances that calmed your breathing.  

As your breathing came back to you, you noticed how there was no music behind you. Your name was being yelled over and over again by someone off to the side. The crowd’s laughter and enjoyment had been deduced to murmurs.

You lifted your head and looked around you. Your back was to the audience and your entire family was staring at you with concern. Their song was left behind, your health is more important than keeping the audience entertained. You furrowed your eyebrows at the yells to your side. It wasn’t your family, they were all whispering reassurances. You pulled yourself onto your knees, looking over Tam Amber’s head to find the voice. Coriolanus was pawing at the edge of the stage, calling your name so many times it started to lose its meaning. 

Worry was etched into his face, staring at you like he just watched you get stabbed. You ducked back into the huddle of Covey colors. You started muttering to yourself about the dangers. You’ve definitely lost your marbles. You started to lose track of your breathing again, getting worked up over his hidden plans. You lunged and latched onto Lucy Gray’s shoulders, startling her. 

“He’s going to kill me. He’s here for revenge. Gutted like a fish, gutted gutted. I killed him, he’s haunting me.” You felt like you were wrapped up in another nightmare, tugging at the snakes around your throat again. Tam Amber and Barb Azure latched onto your hands, stopping you from scratching anymore. Lucy Gray gripped onto your cheeks holding you steady. 

“He is not going to hurt you. He saved you remember? You’re not in the Games, you survived. You’re home. You’re in the Hob. Remember?” Lucy Gray asked, taking your hand and pressing it against the wooden stage in District 12. Not the concrete covered in blood in the Capitol.

You took in a deep breath, feeling every set of eyes on you. Maybe they should all see this. Watch you lose your shit so they remember the Games are nothing to enjoy. Not that many people from 12 cared much for them anyway. Your eyes snapped over to Coriolanus. 

Would a vengeful spirit look so concerned over your pain? You doubted it. You didn’t dare stumble to your feet, the chance of falling far too high. Your head was still light from the lack of oxygen. You slowly started to crawl towards the edge of the stage, leaving your huddle of Covey warmth to venture towards the possibility of the real Coriolanus Snow in front of you.

Coriolanus jumped over the lip of the stage, inching towards you on the wooden panels. You stopped halfway there, letting him come to you. He slowed as he reached you, holding his hand out like an offering. You wrapped it in yours, making sure he wasn’t a ghost or hallucination, or what have you. Coriolanus took this as a good sign, sliding across the floor to saddle up next to you. He watched as you pulled your attention to his face. You reached out and held onto his cheek. Coriolanus leaned into it before he could stop himself. 

“Are you alright?” He whispered. You shook your head in disbelief as your hand traveled from his cheek to his eyebrow, nose, hairline, and lips. You pulled your fingertip over the both of them, resting in on his chin. 

“Are you real?” You muttered back, watching his lips to see if they didn’t move right. Coriolanus let out a laugh at that, showing his teeth at you. 

“Yes, I am.” He said, gently tapping your jawline, making you tilt your chin up. You shook your head, it couldn’t make less sense. He was Capitol through and through, there was no way he would set that down for District 12. 

“Why are you here? You’re supposed to be getting ready for university in the fall?” You ask, reaching out for his face again. You held on to the sides of his head, running them back to run over his incredibly short hair. Coriolanus smiled at you, tilting his head back with your hands. 

“They caught me cheating. They sent me to 8 but I made them send me here. I could see you then, at least that's what I hoped. Here you are.” He said, pulling your hands away from his head and holding them to his chest. You frowned. 

“So now you’re stuck as a peacekeeper for what? 15? 20? 25 Years? All because you wanted to get that prize, you lost it.” You pressed your lips into a thin line and tried to hold back the guilt you felt. He shook his head, bringing your hands to his lips. He kissed each of your knuckles. 

“I didn’t lose anything. I wanted you to win, to live. I’m holding you in my hands right now, alive and well. All things considered, I’ve won.” Coriolanus said, pulling you closer to him. You shook your head. 

“I don’t know about the 'well' part. I’m not exactly adapting well to life outside the arena.” You said, glancing over at your family staring at you. Watching your every move in case of a call for help. You gave them a small smile. Tam Amber raised an eyebrow. You nodded and the Covey moved to stand up. Lucy Gray made her way to the mic, making up a softer version of what was happening. 

“What! You? No way! That panic attack from just seeing me wasn’t a sign at all. Or a hit to my ego, to be perfectly frank.” Coriolanus joked. You snorted, knocking your head against his shoulder. 

“It was a bit of a shock. I miss your curls they were so pretty.” You said and dragged your hands over his buzz cut again. Coriolanus was smiling at you, letting you explore the new short hair. You shook your head and dropped your hands to his cheeks. 

“Do you hate it that much?” He asked, cupping your cheeks. You leaned into his palm, smiling at the contact. 

“No, no. I like it. You came to 12, for me?” You asked, catching up to his words. Coriolanus nodded. 

“Why?” You asked. Coriolanus pulled his hands away from your face, resting on your forearms. Coriolanus’ smile faltered. He gave you a half-shrug, looking away from your face. 

“I care for you. I want to keep you safe and stay with you.” Coriolanus said, tightening his hold on your arms. You wrapped your arms around him, pressing your ear to his chest to listen to his heartbeat. 

“I’m glad you’re here, I missed you.” You whispered into his shirt. Coriolanus hugged you back. Eventually, you pulled apart and you left the emptying Hob. Apparently the mess of your outburst and a peacekeeper hugging a Covey? Well, that’s unheard of.

You were shocked when the town seemed to stay quiet about the whole thing. Not silent, you weren’t sure they could do that. Quiet.

When you went into town to pick up some groceries with Lucy Gray, plenty of passersby stopped to ask if you were feeling any better. One even said he hoped you and your peacekeeper friend were both doing okay. ‘What a reunion! Hope he made it back to the base before curfew. See and that’s-‘ and then he started a rant about how strange youngins and military rules were. You were finally able to slip away from the conversation after saying you heard someone calling you. 

As you stared at the produce counter, deciding which vegetables you should get, someone joined you at your side. You ignored them, still not sure which ones were worth the performances the Covey had to put on in order to get this money. 

“Personally I’d get the potatoes, but tomatoes always add a nice garnish to things.” You’d recognized the voice a thousand miles away. You looked at him, smiling just at the sight of him. 

“Why Private Snow, don’t you have duties to attend to?” You joked, handing over a few coins for three potatoes. You added them to your bag, walking away from the stand. Just as you expected, Coriolanus followed after you. 

“Oh no it’s a free day. I’m just supposed to stay with Sejanus. We have to adhere to the buddy system. It’s ridiculous.” Coriolanus shook his head at the annoyance. You spotted Lucy Gray at a stand of her own. It was about time for you two to go anyway. You looked back at Coriolanus, ignoring every word that came from his mouth. 

“There’s a lake. Really only Covey knows about it. What do you think of you and your buddy joining us next weekend?” You glance over his shoulder to watch Sejanus make conversation with Lucy Gray. Coriolanus sucked in a breath. Your eyes shot to him, waiting to see if he’d say no. 

“I think there’s nothing more I’d like to do next Sunday.” He answered. You nodded and hid the evergrowing grin on your face. You cleared your throat. 

“Great, I am very casual about this whole ordeal.” You said, starting to inch away from him. Coriolanus puffed his chest out. 

“Oh yeah. Me too. So casual. Won’t be thinking about you before I go to sleep tonight at all.” Coriolanus responded, clasping his arms behind his back. He nodded like he was agreeing at a business meeting. You hummed. 

“Oh yeah, yeah. No, I would never in a million years think of you in my free time. Never, not once have I done that. Much less before bed in the hopes of good dreams, please your ego is so big I’m choking on it.” You waved your hand in your face, pretending to push away his ego to breathe. Coriolanus didn’t even bother hiding the smile on his face as you both backpedaled away from each other. 

“Sunday.” He responded, already metaphorically foaming at the mouth to get to that lake. You nodded, heading off in the direction of Lucy Gray. 

“Sunday.” 

And there he was on Sunday. Once you saw the edge of the lake, you were dropping your items left and right, racing Maude Ivory for the water. You lost but you beat CC so you accepted it. Coriolanus joined you seven in the water, splashing you all.

When he resurfaced, looking around for you, you splashed him in the face. Coriolanus sputtered and wiped his face with his hand before lunging at you. He pulled you from the water before flinging you back into the waves from his splash, making you scream. As you splashed under the water his hands reached for your body, pulling you back towards the surface. You laughed once you got the water off your face.

Coriolanus pulled you closer, your body moving easily with the help of the lake. He pressed your body against his. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling his chin over your shoulder. You hummed and leaned into him. Coriolanus pressed his lips against the side of your neck as he hooked his arm over your shoulder.  

When your fingers got pruney, you and Coriolanus pulled yourselves from the water. Maude Ivory complained that you were a party pooper and CC splashed her in response.

You and Coriolanus dried out in the sun, laying on top of a sheet you dragged along with you to the lake. Coriolanus pressed you against him, holding on like you might disappear into the wind if he let go. Your head was resting on top of his chest. You held onto his wrist that was thrown onto your shoulder, keeping your fingers on his pulse. He intertwined your fingers with his other hand. The steady beat under your fingertips reminded you that he was alive and this wasn't a dream. It wasn't going to rabidly twist into a nightmare before you could catch up. 

“I have nightmares every night.” You whispered. You just needed to get it off your chest before he started to wonder. You hoped he heard it because if the Covey and Sejanus splashing in the water was too loud, you didn't think you'd be able to repeat it. Coriolanus dropped the hand he was holding, rubbing your cheek instead. Coriolanus hummed in acknowledgment, giving you the time to continue. You pressed your fingers into his pulse harder, needing it to be louder than just a soft whisper of a beat under your fingers.

“I watch you die every night, Coriolanus.” You added. Maybe this could ease some of the questions you knew he was holding back.

No one reacts to seeing their (lover?) friend like that after not seeing them for weeks. No one starts crying and rocking themselves back and forth just from a look.

Coriolanus started at that, pulling his leg up like he wanted to get up and start punching the nightmares. His hand on your face stalled and waited in the air. As the moment of silence turned into two, you wondered if you overstepped somehow. You sat up, rolling over onto your stomach so you could look at his face. He sat up on his elbows. Coriolanus met your eyes, an unreadable look on his face. 

He reached out with one hand and held onto yours, holding onto it tight. You gave him time, like he’d given you. Coriolanus sighed. 

“I’m not going anywhere. I'm not dying anytime soon, I'm not leaving you. You're okay. That arena was horrific but we're not there anymore. You're all in one piece and I'm going to take care of you. In the arena, I couldn't be there, only from behind the screen. I'm not going anywhere now, I can protect you now. Do you understand?” Coriolanus asked, raising his eyebrows and staring at you severely. You hummed and leaned your forehead against his. 

“I understand.” You whispered back. Coriolanus dropped your hands and cupped your cheeks, pulling you away from his forehead. He tilted his head and leaned closer before stopping and watching you intently. You leaned into him, pressing your lips against his.

Coriolanus pulled you closer by your back. He held onto the side of your face, humming against your mouth. You were warm and made him want to hide in your arms forever. You held onto the back of his neck. Coriolanus licked at your bottom lip. You would've opened your mouth for him if you didn't want to scar your cousins in the lake just a few feet away. Instead, you pulled away, much to Coriolanus' disdain. You kissed both corners of his mouth, patting his cheeks. Coriolanus pulled at your wrist, taking your hand to his lap and intertwining your fingers. 

You both settled back down on the sheet. Lucy Gray left the water and laid out in the dock to dry off. She watched as you relaxed into Coriolanus, shutting your eyes. Lucy Gray wanted you to get more sleep but with sleep came the promise of nightmares. At least you were in the woods so your terror would go unnoticed by the few neighbors you did have. 

Once Lucy Gray was fully dry she made her way over the sheet. The Covey’s clothes were laid out and folded into piles for each person. She smiled at your care and pulled her stack away. Lucy Gray looked up at you to thank you, you were still asleep. You had a small smile on your face and Lucy Gray hoped it would stay. Coriolanus turned his head to face her, raising an eyebrow. 

“Are we leaving soon? Let me wake-” Lucy Gray quickly shook her head. 

“No. No. Don't, they need their rest. I'm not sure if they've slept this long without a nightmare waking them up since the Games. We can stay a little longer.” Lucy Gray said, pulling her dress back on. 

As you continued to snooze, the Covey got more and more tired. They all left the water, drying out on the dock. Or CC’s case, running around and shaking like a dog. Eventually, they all made it back into their clothes.

Something about you snoozing away on Coriolanus’ chest seemed so inviting. Maude Ivory tucked herself under your arm, pressing her head to Coriolanus' chest as well. Tam Amber laid down on the edge of the blanket, keeping a hand on your calf like you might run away. Sejanus laid next to Coriolanus, giving him a thumbs up at you and Coriolanus snuggling. CC leaned his head against your side, kicking his legs out at Tam Amber. Tam Amber swatted them away, making CC laugh. Barb Azure shushed him and joined Sejanus on the side. She reached over and held onto your free hand, the other one preoccupied with Coriolanus'. Lucy Gray sat behind you, watching the lake. Coriolanus' hand rubbed your back as you slept away. Coriolanus turned his head to look at Lucy Gray. 

“Do you always sleep like meerkats, piling on top of each other?” Coriolanus whispered. Lucy Gray shook her head. 

“No.” 

“Yes.” 

Lucy Gray and Barb Azure shared a glance at their opposing views. Coriolanus smacked his lips in acceptance. He wasn't getting an answer but at least he was sort of included. You were sleeping on him and therefore everyone trying to get closer to you was getting closer to him. He understood why you would do it, it was so warm and he was positive he's never felt this loved before. 

When you woke up, it was quiet and gentle. You looked around and smiled at the pile. You turned around and grinned at Lucy Gray. You held up a thumbs up. 

Maybe it was the pile, Coriolanus, his words, the exhaustion from splashing in the water, or some other secret things but you slept without a nightmare. When you went to bed that night it wasn't nearly as scarring. It was just you and Coriolanus on the lakeside. 

[dont-offend-the-bees]

Though We're Strangers 'Til Now

And now for something completely different! Now I want you guys to do me a favour here, and I need you to picture this fic as having like, a BBC Saturday night family show budget. I’m specifically talking Atlantis, but if you’ve not seen Atlantis (like most people), think Merlin. I wrote Edwin and Charles’ voices entirely as I’d write them in canon-verse, with nearly no regard to the fact I was transplanting them into ancient Greece, so it’s VERY important to me that you embrace the Camp. This is a styrofoam dungeon. Charles is about to meet his destiny in a labyrinth that’s just a quarry in Wales. The historical outfits all have zips up the back. Get on board with the vibe. This one goes out to @every-moment-a-different-sound, who not only made me aware of Painland week as a thing but also approached me for a collab! Go check out their FUCKING GORGEOUS GIFS for this fic!!! This fic quite literally wouldn’t exist without them, Robin you fuckin' rule 💛 4.7k, T-rated, also available on Ao3. Thanks again, @painlandweek!

The dungeon was a proper dingy place. Charles wondered if that's where they got the name from. Dingy, dungeon. Too similar to be a coincidence, right?

Lying on his back on the hard wood pallet, head on his hands, he stared at the pale moonlight bleeding through the window. 'Window' was being a bit generous; it was more of a slit in the wall. Narrow, barred, so high he could've stood on tiptoes and barely brushed it with his fingertips. But at least it was big enough to let in that light. He supposed he was lucky. Between the sliver of moonlight and the sputtering candle in the hallway past the wall of bars, he was bloody spoiled. He didn't know exactly where they were sending him tomorrow, but he had a pretty strong hunch that it would be dark. The kind of dark that drove men mad. Maybe the madness would get him before the bloody great beast in the tunnels got the chance.

Seemed a bit off, really. Putting him in the dingy dungeon when he bloody volunteered for this. Maybe they thought he'd change his mind and leg it in the night. Any half-sensible person would, wouldn't they? No one had ever given Charles an earful for having common sense, though. Usually the opposite.

No running away for him, that's for sure. He was bedded down for the night, just him and a handful of snoring cellmates. Despite the panic and crying, the six other lads had managed to drift into some kind of sleep, however uneasy. Not Charles, though. Too much on his mind. The stupid idea that brought him here in the first place. The near certainty that he'd fail, in the end, and he’d have no one but himself to blame for his bloody demise.

Wasn’t all bleak thoughts, though. After all, there was always him.

The prince.

He closed his eyes, letting it all play out in his head again. Stepping off the boat, being 'greeted' (shackled and marched to the dungeons) by the 'welcoming committee’ (royal guard). Him and thirteen other boys and girls, thanked like heroes and handled like criminals. The king in all his fancy regalia, booming his solemn gratitude to the brave youths for their sacrifice — as if any one of them but Charles had any choice in it. And standing there, at the king's back...

Look, Charles may have had more important things to think about, but he knew a fit lad when he saw one.

Fit didn't even cover it. The boy was just about the most gorgeous thing Charles had ever seen — or ever would see. Unless he spotted a prettier one before he died tomorrow, that is. Bit unlikely.

There was just something about him, the prince. Charles wasn't even into the posh sort, generally. Like with the more well-to-do lads from his own town — something about the baked-in entitlement soured them. Made them ugly, even if they were objectively alright looking. He could smile politely and play nice, but he’d sooner kiss a frog than a rich merchant’s kid. And a prince was a pretty big step up from a merchant's son, wasn't he? By rights he ought to be even worse. Charles probably didn't even register as a human to him. He wasn’t worth wasting a thought on.

Except Charles could still picture him perfectly, in his head. He could play out the whole welcome start to finish. How Charles' heart, all shrivelled in fear, had jumpstarted soon as he clapped eyes on the prince.

"Charles..."

He'd had dark hair all perfectly combed into an inky shine, almost prettier than the gold crown on top of it. Eyes like sea glass, clear and green and shining with a cunning light; eyes that had scanned the line of offerings and landed on Charles. Fixed him with such an intense, curious scrutiny he'd actually felt himself blush.

Hadn't Charles seen him somewhere before? That chin, that nose, those high cheekbones? He could've sworn he'd walked past him at a temple somewhere, carved from pristine marble. He could see him so clearly in his mind's eye, surely he must've known him all his life.

"Charles...?"

If he concentrated, really concentrated, he could even hear his voice...

"Charles Rowland!"

Blimey, that was scary. That sounded real.

Charles blinked his eyes open and frowned. He let his head flop to the side and looked across the cell, where the stone wall gave way to bars.

There, framed by iron and flickering candlelight, there he stood. Pretty as a picture — baffling as a dream.

Charles sat up, slow, cautious. He almost said something proper stupid, like 'what's a nice boy like you doing in a dungeon like this?'

"Um," he fumbled. "Evenin'?"

Mm. Not much better, really, was it?

"Evening, your highness?" he corrected himself, with a wince. Gods, his old man would've walloped him good and proper for talking to a royal like that.

Prince Edwin, however, didn't sneer or snap or even walk away. It was hard to see his face, at a distance in the gloom, but he almost looked amused. Charles thought he could see the barest shadow of a lifted lip, anyway.

"Good evening," said the prince. He said it so quiet, barely above a whisper, but his crisp tone carried regardless. He cocked his head slightly and beckoned with a finger. "Might I have a word?"

Charles glanced behind himself. Just on the off-chance there was another Charles Rowland he didn't know about squeezed onto the narrow bed with him. There wasn't, obviously, and he was a good few feet from any of his sleeping cellmates. No mistaking who the prince was after. He swallowed, stood up, and crept across the uneven flagstones, stepping over the sprawled legs of another boy.

As he neared, as the situation sank in and the prince came into focus, a new bundle of nerves started kicking off. Nothing like the anxious dread that had been stewing in his gut all night, the 'oh, gods, they're feeding me to a monster in the morning' nerves. No, this was different. More familiar but also, weirdly, worse than the monster dread. Fuck, but this lad was gorgeous. Not even the dungeon gloom could hide it. He was almost blinding to look at — and now those clever eyes were fixed right on Charles, no one else. Nowhere to hide. Fuck, Charles probably had sweat and cellar grime all over his face, and all!

Charles came to a standstill, toes almost touching the bars. Up close, he could see that him and the prince were about the same height. Edwin might've had the advantage by an inch or so, but maybe that was just his perfect posture. Spine straight and shoulders back, he regarded Charles with his head curiously cocked and his hands steepled. For a royal, he wasn't dressed all that flashy. Hadn't gone in for any jewellery besides the gilded circlet on his head. And under the blue silk chlamys clasped at his shoulder, his chiton was a simple white, clean and sharp and draped neatly to knee length. Expensive, pristine, put-together, but not exactly ostentatious. Mind you, that's just the sliver of outfit that Charles could see — because the prince had topped the whole thing off with a thick, practical brown cloak. A peacock disguised as a pigeon.

After a moment's quiet contemplation, the prince finally spoke. "I'm told you volunteered," he said. He kept his voice down, but it stayed crisp and clear. Highborn through-and-through. Probably wasn't even capable of mumbling.

Charles supposed it was a bit unusual, but unusual enough to bring a prince skulking down to the dungeons? He reckoned he was right about Edwin's eyes, that cleverness in them — he wasn't just a pretty face under a crown. He wanted to know things. He was staring at Charles like he wanted to pick him apart, understand him.

"Yeah," Charles answered. He forced a grin. "Not my best idea."

The prince blinked and leaned a little closer, intrigued. "Why in the world would you volunteer for this?"

His attention was sort of a lot — but it felt... good. Charles wanted to keep it. Hold onto it. He wanted this clever, gorgeous lad to think he was the most fascinating thing in the room.

Charles shrugged. "I can fight. I can take a hit. Seemed like the right thing to do. The decent thing, yeah?"

Edwin narrowed his eyes. "You’d forfeit your life to... give the beast a fight for its food?"

Charles shifted on his feet. "Not... exactly."

The prince watched him, all expectant. Charles sighed.

"Years it's been going on," he said, barely a mumble — Edwin leaned a little closer still to listen. "Lads and lasses being packed off, fed to that thing to keep it happy. Not right, is it? And I thought, well..."

He'd thought a lot of things. He'd thought well, he was already getting the shit beaten out of him every other day, so what's a little mauling on top of it? He'd thought about being his father's son, with his father's temper, and how maybe that could be a good thing for once. He'd thought about how things could change for him if he came back — and about who would even miss him if he didn't. He'd thought of all those kids less deserving than him, sent miles from home to be ripped to shreds. Sent away from bright futures and families that loved them. Gentle types who'd never hurt a fly. Kids who'd never learned to take a beating. Kids who didn't have the anger to keep them alive. Kids who weren't monster enough to survive the real thing.

"I thought, well, I'm pretty good in a scrap," he said, brightly, plastering on a smile. "Pretty stubborn. Thought if I went down there, maybe I could..."

"Could what?"

Charles raised his eyebrows.

Edwin looked at him blankly.

Charles rolled his eyes, held up one hand, and punched his fist into it twice.

Edwin's eyebrows shot up into his hairline. "You mean to... slay the minotaur?"

"Told you it wasn't my best idea," said Charles.

"You have a talent for understatement," said Edwin, a sharp hiss. His voice had quickened and thinned into a hushed, incredulous patter. "I'd go so far as to describe that idea as fatuous, hubristic, and downright suicidal!"

Charles snorted. "Yeah. Sounds about right." He leaned his shoulder against the bars, brought his face closer to the prince's — which was such a brilliant idea it immediately gave him a really, really bad one. So bad it was impossible to resist.

He gave him a lax, lopsided grin — the one that he could bring out back home to make the girls giggle. "Be good if it worked, though, wouldn't it?"

Coming onto a bloody prince like he was some blushing farm lad... well, it probably wasn't a worse idea than throwing himself into a minotaur's labyrinth, but it probably wasn't much better, either. But what did it matter? They couldn't punish him, could they — they were already feeding him to a monster in the morning. What did he have to lose? Why not take a crack at the handsome prince with the pretty eyes? Sod it, it was his last night on Earth.

Edwin, to Charles' immense glee, actually seemed to get a little pink in the face. His eyes darted away and back again. "Yes, well..." He cleared his throat and straightened his cloak with a sharp tug of the front. "Have you a plan? Tactics? A weapon, at the very least?"

"Um. Well. No, not really." He dropped his fist on the bars once, twice, mulling it over. "But, I have been told my smile's pretty disarming!"

If his clumsy flirting hadn't been enough to break through the regal composure, that would've done it. Edwin's mouth dropped open a little, his brows drawing close together as he stared at Charles in abject disbelief. "Dear gods," he said, voice light and brittle. "You're doomed."

Charles chuckled, resting his forehead against the bars. "Yeah. Suppose so. Won't go down without a fight though, eh?"

He looked up through his eyelashes and found Edwin still staring, lips parted just a bit. Fuck, he had nice lips. Kissable. Charles reckoned he’d miss kissing when he was dead. What was the sentence for stealing a kiss from a prince — was it worse than death by minotaur? He might be willing to risk it.

Edwin tore his gaze away and glanced down the hall, first one way, then the other. Furtive. He seemed to come to some kind of decision. "Charles," he whispered. "Are your cellmates all asleep?"

Pulse quickening, Charles forced his eyes away from the prettiest person in the room to have a glance at the others. Everyone looked the same as they had before. Same chorus of snores and soft breaths and muttered, whimpered nightmares. "Yeah. Yeah, I reckon so."

"Right. Excellent." Edwin cleared his throat again and crowded closer to the bars.

Charles' heart was racing. He couldn't lean any closer to the bars than he already was but he wanted to. He didn't mean to, but he bit his lip, eyes flickering down to Edwin's mouth.

Edwin took another wary glance behind him, and tugged his cloak back. He reached inside. His hand closed around something under his arm and drew it out — something long and wrapped in leather.

Charles caught his breath.

"Take it," Edwin ordered, holding the hilt of the sword to the bars and looking Charles in the eye. "Quickly, and quietly."

Charles didn't need telling twice. He grabbed it, his fingers grazing Edwin's. Gods, he even had beautiful hands. Smooth on the back but a bit calloused on the pads. Didn't escape Charles' notice that the blade, though heavy, seemed to be a familiar weight in his hands.

"Cheers, mate," Charles breathed, drawing the cumbersome thing through the gap. If he was careful, he reckoned he could stash it under his thin cloak without anyone knowing.

He hadn't meant to call the gorgeous boy (who also happened to be fucking royalty) mate, but if Edwin was offended he didn't show it. In fact he ducked his head in a bashful little dip. It was so endearing Charles had to do another quick pros-and-cons list in his head about the risks of snogging him through the bars.

"Well," said Edwin, a forced lightness in his tone. "If you must embark upon this fool's errand, you must have the proper equipment."

Charles let out a ragged breath. "Thank you," he said, sincere, as he slid the scabbard through his belt. He laughed a little, rubbing the back of his head. "To be honest, I've... I've never been more scared in my life."

Edwin's shrewd gaze softened. His whole face did. It actually bowled Charles over a little bit, the difference. He felt like he ought to look away, like he was seeing something he shouldn't. A prince shouldn't be looking at him like that. Not him. Like he was something special. Something he was in awe of. "I can only imagine."

Charles bit his lip. "Less scared, now," he said, fidgeting with the hilt of the sword. Even though he felt a bit like he'd been flayed open and laid at the prince's feet, he still managed a wink. "Reckon I'll show that big bugger what's what with this thing, don't you?"

The prince’s eyes twinkled over his small, indulgent smile. "Oddly enough... yes. I believe you just might." He seemed to catch himself, a pretty blush high on his cheeks as he schooled his expression back into something a bit more lofty. "And quite a feather in your cap it will be. That beast has been a thorn in my father's side for years, holding the kingdom to ransom."

Edwin's gaze flickered over Charles, head to toe, and the pretty blush deepened. "If you were to end its reign of terror, you'd be more than deserving of a handsome reward."

"Oh, yeah?" said Charles. If he sounded breathless, it's 'cause he was. "What sort of reward?"

He felt dazed. He must've been dreaming. Five minutes ago he was accepting his fate, and now he'd been brought a fighting chance. By a gorgeous prince. Who was fucking flirting with him. They must've knocked his head on the bars when they shoved him in the cell — he was probably lying in the corner, drooling and babbling.

Edwin's eyes were restless, darting from Charles' face to his feet. His throat bobbed around a dry swallow. He looked too real to be a dream — but also too good to be true. His hand lifted, fingers resting on an iron bar between them.

"Well," he said, sounding pretty bloody breathless himself. "You could take your pick."

If this wasn't a dream, it was definitely a trick. Some rich kid teasing him, waiting to pull away at the last second and laugh at him for being so easy to string along. Or waiting for an excuse to run to his daddy and bag Charles a fate worse than death for getting fresh with him.

Except for whatever reason, he didn't believe that. Couldn't. For some reason, he trusted Edwin. Felt like he knew him. Like he'd always known him. And he knew he was kind. Not necessarily nice, but kind. For whatever reason he knew Edwin wasn't the sort to mess around with someone's feelings — or pretend to be interested when he wasn't.

Why he'd be interested in Charles of all people was another thing, but... sod it. Charles was probably gonna die tomorrow, anyway. Why not pretend it was possible for a minute? What the fuck did he have to lose?

Feeling once again like the undisputed king of bad decisions, Charles took a breath, and put his hand on top of Edwin's. He almost couldn't believe his luck when Edwin didn't pull away. His hand was soft — like the little gasp he let out when their skin touched.

Swallowing past his dry mouth, Charles laced their fingers. He let them lay there, woven on the bars; the warp and weft of it felt so right he wondered how they hadn't been doing this for years. How'd he gone this long, not realising how empty his hands were without Edwin's tangled up inside them?

He looked at Edwin's face and saw all his own thoughts reflected. Saw Edwin staring at their hands like they were a bloody marvel. Like the last piece of a puzzle had clicked into place. His face was so open, so alive — so gently amazed and Charles had never wanted to kiss someone more in his life.

Charles laughed, quiet, awed. "Handsome prize, alright."

That earned him another quick, coy duck of Edwin's head — but Charles could see him preening clear as day. "Be sure you're alive to claim it," he said, soft and serious. He squeezed Charles' hand once before breaking the hold.

Charles sketched a lazy salute to distract his hand from how empty it felt. "No dying. Right-o."

Edwin smiled. A proper smile; a quick flash of teeth breaking through his tight-lipped, regal composure. Charles would've fought the bloody titans to get another glimpse of it.

"You are... odd," said Edwin, matter-of-factly. "And quite mad, I suspect."

"...Cheers?"

Humming, Edwin reached into his cloak once more. "There is just one other thing..."

He brought out something small from a pouch at his waist. Something round, with a leather cord threaded through the middle and tied off in a loop. Edwin held it aloft, thumb and forefinger pinched through the handle. The little round something glowed silky gold in the candlelight, and Charles squinted at it.

"...String?" he asked.

Edwin nodded, reaching into the cell to take Charles' hand and draw it through the bars. His touch lingered as he placed the generous clew of fine, shimmering string in Charles' palm.

"I had the idea that if you were to unspool it behind you, perhaps you might be able to navigate the labyrinth with greater ease." Head bowed, he looked at Charles through his lashes. Pretty, fluttering things they were, charcoal black. "So that when you slay the beast, you might find your way back."

Charles gawped at him. "Mate. That's proper smart."

Edwin preened again — actually, he preened more than he had when Charles' complimented his looks. Handy to know. "Yes, I thought it rather a sensible idea. I spun it myself; I’ve been experimenting with the tensile strengths of different fibres. It shan’t break."

Charles grinned, closing his hand around the clew — and Edwin's fingers, too. "Brains and beauty, eh?" he said. "Where've you been all my life?"

Edwin went pinker, his eyes twinkled. Warmer than the candlelight, brighter than the moon.

Charles would have to offer up a prayer tonight to any god who might be listening. He'd do anything, give them anything, if they only promised to get him through tomorrow alive. He needed at least a thousand more days ahead of him, just to spend finding more and ingenious ways of making this boy smile at him.

Soon, too soon, Edwin sighed, reluctantly extricating his hand from Charles'. "I must go," he said, apologetic. "Questions will be asked if I'm discovered down here in the dead of night."

"Yeah. Yeah, 'course." Charles let his hand fall to his side, clenching it around the thread — still warm from Edwin's hand. He laughed, softly. "Well, um. Thanks for... dropping in?"

"And thank you for your discretion," said Edwin, raising his eyebrows as he drew his cloak back around him. "I'm sure I need not impress upon you the fact that I was never here."

Charles mimed locking his lips and throwing away the key.

"Good. Very good." Edwin shifted his weight between his feet a moment, finger lifting, mouth opening as if he had more to say. But whatever it was, he thought better of it. He drew his hands into fists in front of him, pressed together knuckle to knuckle, and offered a tight smile instead. "Well... best of luck, Charles Rowland. I truly hope you find fortune on your side."

With a stiff bob of his head, he turned fluidly on his heel to walk away. And it hit Charles again, hard, right between the eyes. The possibility that tomorrow could be his last day alive. A few minutes ago, the idea hadn't bothered him much.

Fuck. It bothered him, now.

"Edwin," he said, almost losing control of his volume as desperation sunk its hooks into him. He grabbed the bars, white-knuckled. "Edwin, wait —"

And he did. He waited, his back to Charles, his posture so, so perfect. Still as a statue.

Charles swallowed. "Can..."

Edwin turned his head, just slightly.

Charles' courage abandoned him. He huffed, shaking his head. "Nah. Nothing."

Of course, if there's one thing Charles knew about Edwin by now, it was that he couldn't resist a mystery. He turned to face Charles, eyes bright and curious. "Is there something else you require?"

Charles forced a smile. "You've already given me two gifts, mate. Bit greedy to ask for another one, yeah?"

"Perhaps." Edwin paused, and took a cautious step closer. "But, between ourselves... I can see little harm in the asking."

Charles' grin bloomed into something more sincere, something real. "No standing on ceremony, eh?"

Edwin's eyes crinkled at the corners. "I hardly see the point. I think perhaps you and I might dispense with formalities."

"Right."

Well then. Why not? Last night on Earth, and all that.

Charles ducked his head, laughing softly at himself. "Well. I was gonna be a bit cheeky, actually. Ask you to gimme a kiss for luck. But I reckon that's a bit — mmf!"

Quick, quicker than Charles could've imagined, Edwin was right there; reaching through the bars, taking Charles' face in his hands, and pulling him into a bruising kiss.They were lucky neither of them broke their noses against the iron strips.

Charles startled, gasped, so blindsided he didn't even know what to do with his hands — so he ended up just sort of clinging onto the bars. But soon enough his eyes fluttered closed, his breath rushed out of him and he melted. He kept his grip on the bars, though, holding on tight just to keep his knees from buckling. Edwin's lips were soft, and hotter than fire. His kiss was clumsy and overeager and not even slightly what Charles would've expected from someone so elegant, so refined. But he tasted of honey and home and Charles could've got lost in him, happily. Charles felt like he'd been shoved against the wall and plundered, in the best possible way. He felt like Edwin was everywhere, filling his senses. Hard not to feel wrapped up in him, with the way Edwin had his hands cupped round Charles' face, covetous and claiming. Like Charles belonged to him.

Fuck, maybe he did. Maybe he always had.

Edwin broke the kiss, but he didn't let Charles go. Just pulled back a little, still framing Charles' face with his fingers. His eyes were dark, hooded, his pretty eyelashes fluttering as he stroked Charles' cheek with his thumb. Face flushed, breathing hot and fast, gazing at Charles like he could devour him with his eyes. Charles shivered under the possessive weight of his gaze. He felt seen, admired, treasured. He felt owned.

He wanted more. More, more, until he suffocated under it.

Edwin took a shuddering inhale. "Come back to me," he said. And just because his voice was high and wavering with feeling didn't make it any less commanding. It wasn't a request; it was an order.

Charles nodded, in a daze. "I will," he promised.

He was as surprised as anyone to find he actually meant it.

Edwin nodded, and pulled him in close once more. Quick as you like, for just one more kiss — this one dry and fleeting, almost chaste. Bit of a departure from the one before, but somehow all the more devastating. Charles could feel Edwin's palms against his jaw, pressing so tight they ought to bruise. He hoped they would. A sword and a string weren't enough; he wanted everything Edwin could give him. Every tangible reminder that this was real, wasn't just a mad dream.

When that kiss broke, so did Edwin's hold. When he stepped away, he went all the way. And with one last lingering, longing look, he was gone, fading into the night. A mirage. A ghost.

And like a broken amphora, Charles remained right where Edwin had left him. Off-kilter, rooted to the spot. His outer shell shattered; his insides pooling at his feet for all to see.

~

It would be a sombre morning, just as the others had been. A familiar and predictable tragedy; as it always was, and always shall be.

At dawn's early light, just as they always had, seven young men and seven young women would be led — marched, bullied, carried — to the mouth of the labyrinth. There, the trembling gathering would be ushered into the embrace of the earth and stone. Pushed by the merciless hands of a royal guard, who'd long learned to look past the blood upon them.

But on this occasion, quite without the guards' knowledge, one youth would hang back from the crowd. From his cloak he would draw a small token, round and bright like a golden apple. A ball of fine yarn — spun in strong, beautiful fibres by strong, beautiful hands. He would find the end of the thread and fasten it, tightly, to an old iron ring within the threshold.

Then, with the clew unspooling from his fingers, painting a trail behind him like a steady drip of molten gold, he would walk into the jaws of death. Not with fear, not even with resignation, but with purpose. He was no hapless sacrifice, no tragic victim. He was a youth who'd grown accustomed to treading lightly through the dark, lest the monster in his house leap from the shadows. A youth with steel in his hand, and his own monster in his belly; a monstrous rage, and monstrous desire. A hunger to rival that of the minotaur’s.

A youth with a promise to keep in the dark; and a path waiting to lead him back to the light.

~~

A ball of thread is known as a clew or, in an alternative spelling, a clue. To this day, we talk about following the ‘clues’ to discover something, and it’s all thanks to the story of Theseus and Ariadne’s thread. — things I didn’t even know when I came up with this idea but make me insane… everything is connected… detective boys forever… Thanks for reading guys! You know I adore your comments 💛 and don't forget to give Robin's amazing gifs some love as well! Dunno if I'll get anything posted tomorrow, but if I do it'll either be something much shorter or maybe some sketches. I will defo see you for another fic on day 4, though! Any encouragement very much welcomed, it's been a rough couple of weeks💛 Painland Week Prompt List

[iambicpentameterhamster]

What i think of you based on your favourite Six of Crows character

Matthias Helvar:

You probably read a lot in the fantasy genre and take yourself too seriously (no offense) probably busy daydreaming about profound things and writing poems that you'll eventually delete. You love bleak and gritty stories and you listen to Coldplay, Conan Gray or The Tortured Poets Department. No shade though, you guys are probably great friends with value for loyalty. In summary, i think you're all either really intense and ernest or totally shy and quiet. You're probably heterosexual to be honest.

Nina Zenik:

I think people who's favourite is Nina don't tend to be much like her in real life, but are the type of people that would really want to befriend her. I'd say you're more introverted and quietly friendly, but then you act totally different and comfortable with the right friends. Technically disapproving of gossip, but turn into Regina George if the rumour is juicy enough- secretly judgemental but it all comes out to your best friends. You have a good sense of humour and probably quite a cynical/pessimist mindset overall. I know you like campy films like Legally Blonde and Clueless. Oh, and your favourite subject is definately history.

Inej Ghafta:

If you're drawn to the steady and honest beat of Inej's thoughts, I think you're quite an anxious or scattered person who enjoys how safe and comforting she feels as a character. I'd say you're a sensitive person with a keen eye for colour and art. Your favourite chapters in SOC are definately the backstory and romance chapters. You cry often at films and music and just when you feel bittersweet or happy. You have Hozier, Mitski or Radiohead on your playlists. You're either artsy smart or english smart, there's no way your a science/maths kinda person.

Wylan Van Eck:

This one is split. You're either one of those people that infantalises and simplifies his character and reduces both him and Jesper to their ship and nothing else, OR you're literally the best person ever. If you're the latter, you're probably super empathetic and appreciate depth as well as a good laugh, and i severley doubt you yourself enjoy maths and chemistry despite loving that look for Wylan. I've also never met a Wylan stan who wasn't a HARDCORE fan of SOC in general. You guys are the loudest complainers about Shadow and Bone being cancelled, and honestly, power to you. I bet your room is a bombsite right now too- pick up those dirty clothes, for christ sake.

Kaz Brekker:

All Kaz Brekker fans are somewhat infatuated with him. Your favourite chapters/scenes are absolutely the action and sexual tension scenes. All about high stakes and excitement, and you love to be surprised. That or you have a big thing for the bad boy trope. I think you have "dark achademia" or grunge-ey pinterest boards that don't match your real life style. I also think you think chess and piano are really sexy but play neither yourself. You and your friends probably read terrible Wattpad stories for a joke. Generally, you're somehow relaxed and simultaneously intense as fuck. 70% of you are Queer women/ nb people, other 30% are intensely heterosexual.

Jesper Fahey:

You have Queen on your playlist. Queen or Gorillaz. You're probably a quite casual person who is taken with Jesper's charm and humour, and you appreciate the comedic relief as you don't enjoy too much grit and heavy stuff with no humour breaks. But despite being not the most sensitive person in the world, Jesper's backstory caught you off guard and it HURT. I think you love comedies and action, you're decent at school and you're quite popular with a good circle of friends. A social person. Potential theatre kid, but minor roles/tech, and the only musical you really like is Hamilton lmao. You are generally a funny person, but you've definately experienced that moment where you tell a joke and nobody laughs.

Anybody else:

Non-existent.

OH AND ALSO, KAZ AND WYLAN FANS ARE THE ONES WHO WRITE ALL OF THE FANFICTION

[deadpresidents]

Thanks for being real today.

I get people wanting to be hopeful.

But I can't with "it will be okay" and "we will survive this."

It was not okay for Heather Heyer, Joseph Rosenbaum, Anthony Huber, Joyce Fienberg, Richard Gottfried, Rose Mallinger, Jerry Rabinowitz, Cecil & David Rosenthal, Bernice & Sylvan Simon, Daniel Stein, Melvin Wax, Irving Younger, Andre Anchondo, Jordan Anchondo, Arturo Benavides, Leonardo Campos, Angie Englisbee, Maria Flores, Raul Flores, Guillermo "Memo" Garcia, Jorge Calvillo García, Adolfo Cerros Hernández, Alexander Gerhard Hoffman, David Johnson, Luis Alfonzo Juarez, Maria Eugenia Legarreta Rothe, Maribel (Campos) Loya, Ivan Filiberto Manzano, Elsa Mendoza Marquez, Gloria Irma Márquez, Margie Reckard, Sara Esther Regalado Moriel, Javier Rodriguez, Teresa Sanchez, Juan Velazquez, or any of the other people killed by white supremacists whose actions were aided and abetted by the Trump presidency. These people did not survive. Not to mention all the people who haven't survived COVID, but might have if the Trump administration had taken timely action. Or the women who have died after being refused appropriate medical care because of the rapist and his buddies that Trump appointed decided with some weird pastor in the 1600 said was more important than the lives of actual living, breathing, human beings. Or the school children who would not have been shot to death if we had actual gun control laws in this country, a thing that would have been possible to achieve if Trump had lost in 2016.

Yeah, sure, the majority of us in the United States will probably survive. That's how statistics work. And if that's what somebody needs to hear in order to move forward, then I guess saying such things has a purpose. But it's looking pretty shitty for anybody living in Ukraine and to me, it comes across as disrespectful to the people whose lives have been lost in no small part thanks to what goes down in US elections.

I needed somebody today who would say not only that this is not okay, but this is *really* not okay.

Thanks for being that voice.

Thank you for this. I can't help but write what I feel, even if some of it hasn't been the most optimistic message to send. There is a reality that we need to come to terms with in order to find some way forward. I'm pissed off and I'm disgusted with this country, so I'm going to keep doing what I've been doing because it is therapeutic for me right now and I'm too old to go around punching and kicking people.

I do want to say that I'm also cognizant of the fact that some people just need some time to allow this reality to settle. I certainly don't want to add to the stress or darkness that some of us are feeling right now. There is no denying that this is fucking terrible, but we will regroup and find a way through it. It won't be easy and we're going to have to fight, but I don't want anybody to think that there is genuinely no hope. There's always something that we can do, even if it seems bleak.

If I'm writing something or somebody else is saying something that you're not ready to hear, it's okay to do what you need to do to remain healthy. These posts are going to be here whenever you might feel like reading them. You can and should step away from this if you just need a fucking break. It doesn't mean you're any less ready or willing to fight this battle than anybody else. Even if Trump and the rotten MAGA cult takes control of every lever of power, you can gain a personal victory by not allowing them to completely crush your faith in the future. You can be depressed and despair, but do not give up. Do not give them that power over you. We will find a way. We will get through this. We will figure out what it is that we need to do and who we need to back and how we need to attack, but taking care of your personal health and well-being is more immediately important than the bigger political battle or the next step in the resistance. Take care of yourselves first and we'll still be here and ready to eventually harness this anger and frustration and fucking disgust to defeat the MAGA movement and Trump's Christian nationalist personality cult.

The main thing, though, is that if you're really having a tough time in the immediate future, step away, take some time, go for a walk, read something that has absolutely nothing to do with Donald Trump or American politics (if you need suggestions, I always have book recommendations!), and regroup. Again, we'll get through this, and as goofy and weird and ridiculous as Tumblr can be at times, there's always a community of people on this site willing to listen and help each other when we're struggling. So, if you are having trouble getting to tomorrow, reach out because there are scores of people here who will help get there with you.